Defrosted: A 40K Story
by Fusion-Corsair
Summary: An Adeptus Mechanicus Magos defrosts a man frozen millennia ago from the preservation facility he was entombed in. How will he react to a future full of nihilism, fanaticism, and senseless conflict? Complete.
1. Chapter 1

_Archaic Cryogenics Facility, 0 834.999.M41  
Adeptus Mechanicus Expedition to ruins on Holy Terra  
Objective: Hunt for archaeotech to further the goals of the Omnissiah - that is, the God-Emperor of Humanity_

Within the confines of the ruins, half-buried underground, two Tech-Priests from the Adeptus Mechanicus, along with a Servitor and a pair of recording servo-skulls, were examining the ancient structure for signs of ancient technology left. The building in question seemed to date from the early era of the third millennium, making this an extraordinarily rare find.

 _++Observation++ ++Ultrasonics reveal a basement area beneath this floor++ ++contents unknown++ ++access port discovered++_

The less human-looking of the two tech-priests, an Explorator assigned to accompany Magos Felicia Tayber during this expedition, stepped over to an extraordinarily rusted file cabinet, pushing it aside(and turning it into scrap metal as well) to reveal the faint outlines of a door. The senior tech-priest's mechadendrites began to cut away at the exterior, sparks flying as the door fell forward down a large staircase.

Stepping over the ruined door, the three(or two and a half, given the Servitor's less-than-human mental capabilities) reached the lower floor, where they were shown a strange sight - small metal containers, each one connected to tubes that fed in some sort of chilled gaseous mixture. One of the servo-skulls floated forward, scanning the mysterious container, the Explorator vocalizing the machine's findings.

 _++Head of human sentient++ ++Third millennium relic++ ++head is preserved through application of cryogenic gas++ ++head is non-functional and incapable of being attached to a body++ ++containment failure is likely cause of death of cryo-frozen tissue++_

"Hardly a surprise," Felicia mused, pausing for a moment as she heard a noise down at the far end of the room. "Why such equipment would remain functional without any maintenance for millennia is a miracle of the Machine-God." A door opened, and what very clearly appeared to be a mechanized humanoid stepped forward - It was large, over a foot taller than the Magos herself. Slowly and mechanically, the individual walked over towards them, saying nothing. The hum of ancient motors and glimpse of archaic sensors underneath the facial plate of the entity indicated clearly that this was some sort of archaic machine - perhaps even a Man of Iron.

The machine's exterior appeared to be a durable alloy. It had a pair of stabbing claws, retracted as of right now, along with a human-like appendage for the right arm and a cannon on the left that appeared to be of a design unseen to humanity. It was not Chaos-corrupted from what Felicia could tell - it gave no indication of aberrant behavior, nor did it showcase the physical signs of an automaton possessed by a daemon.

The two tech-priests, immediately intrigued at the thought of this machine leading them to its fellows, followed, only to be greeted with an unusual sight - a massive cryogenics pod that the archaic construct was tending to. Another Man of Iron, identical but even more banged up than the one that had greeted them, was assisting it, turning a valve to release more gas into the pod, continuing the preservation of whatever human remained inside.

"Fascinating. These... automatons... have kept the individual frozen for this entire time." Felicia mused, pondering over the capabilities of how to bring out the person within from stasis. "Imagine what he could tell us of the ancient technologies here... "

 _++Warning++ ++Subject has severe internal trauma++ ++heart and left lung damaged critically++ ++death will follow if revived without implants++_

"Well, do you see any way we can keep the pod frozen?" She mused. The options were slim - the body would need to be swiftly thawed, then operated on before any decay could set in. But how could they manage proper implantation of organ replacements in such a short span of time?

 _++Nanites can stabilize individual's organs for long enough to allow for replacements++ ++fitted with micro factory to produce the necessary nanites++_

The Explorator had spent time among the Cult of the Micro-Omnisiah on Galath, and had been implanted with the nano-genus mechadendrites and the micro-factory to produce the necessary nanites. Emperor willing, they would stabilize whoever the individual was for long enough that they could replace the necessary organs. With such being the case, they immediately moved to begin the disassembling process for removing the body from the pod. This would be a remarkable discovery.

Perhaps they would get a planet out of it.

 _Recovery Ward, Holy Terra, 0 835.999.M41_

"Date-log, 835.999.M41." Felicia mused to the recorder built into her very body. "The operation was somewhat successful. Significant damage was caused to the individual's torso. Several ribs were completely broken. The liver, pancreas, heart, and right lung were all damaged beyond repair, likely the reason this man was in cryogenic stasis to begin with - to seek an opportunity for his repair later." She looked down, noticing the still-comatose body of the individual, his eyes closed and his flesh pale, a residual effect of the cold. "Individual is estimated to be in his early twenties. More than the usual amount of alcohol was found in his system, suggesting intoxication played a part in the situation he was now in. Physical structure has been reinforced through implantation of mechanical braces instead of damaged ribs, as well as artificial organs. His body is biologically active, but no brain activity has been detected since his awakening."

She sighed, to herself, frustrated. Had all her work been for naught? Then a brief spike formed on the monitor he had been wired to. And another, and another... Slowly, it seemed as though he was awakening, a finger twitching, a shoulder maneuvering forward as the body seemed to run itself through some sort of mental reactivation protocol. This continued for what seemed like hours, electric current from the mind slowly rising to levels of extreme erraticism.

 _Car... Crash... What happened? Bright lights... Force... Stabbed by something... Damn, that party wasn't worth it, was it?_

He shuddered more and more violently, the unknowing flashback shocking whatever remained of his psyche into action before he ceased moving once more, the brain activity, previously off the charts, reduced to slightly below-normal levels. A medical servitor brought in an IV, swiftly plugged into his system to provide him with whatever nutrients he had failed to receive during stasis, the adequate nutrients to assist his body in adjusting to the new implants.

It was a good thing he hadn't yet awoken from the rest he had received. After all, this was the grim darkness of the far future. There was only one thing awaiting him.

War.

 _Recovery Ward, Holy Terra, 0 836.999.M41_

Eyes opened for the first time in many millennia. They were green, verdant like the forests long made extinct on the Hive World as man expanded to every territory of the planet's surface, even the oceans devoured by his thirst. He slowly moved his fingers, stretching them before weakly clenching them in a fist. He turned his head left and right before moving his shoulders back, slowly sitting up. This was... different. He recollected fondly where he had died, and everything that had transpired since then.

Looking around, he noticed the degree of strange, dystopian advancement that had spread throughout the entirety of the hospital bed. Carefully, he turned towards the right side of the bed, wiggling his toes and twitching his feet to ensure that they would work. As he stood up, an almost painful tingling sensation reached his brain, so strong that he almost lost his footing – but as he continued to stand up, the feeling began to slowly go away. Taking the IV from his arm and slowly removing it, he began to cautiously walk towards the door, looking to exit the room and find someone, anyone to talk to.

But the door was sealed. There would be no method of entrance anytime soon, no doorknob, no keypad… Nothing at all to utilize in order to exit the room. Because of this, he did the only thing he felt was sensible – he began to bang on the door, hoping that someone would answer him. And indeed, someone did – but that someone made him step back in fear.

It was a woman. Wearing robes of crimson red, a good half of her face seemed to have been replaced by disturbing metal implants, flesh menacingly melded with machinery. Mechanical limbs, tipped with tri-fingered claws, seemed to sprout from her back, aimed menacingly towards him despite the smile she seemed to showcase with whatever flesh was still functional on her face. He immediately began to tremble, falling back. "Oh God no... This has to be some sort of sick, fucked up dream... No way in hell the Borg Queen and Doctor Octopus could've merged like this..."

Felicia paused, eying him. He spoke in a syntax that sounded unusually, almost disturbingly close to the Low Gothic commonly utilized by the population of the Imperium. Some things he spoke of were very much unfamiliar to her, though she chose to halt her further advancement into the room. "You clearly appear to be in a state of shock... I am Felicia Tayber, Magos of the Adeptus Mechanicus. I recovered you from the state of cryogenic suspension you were placed in. We also recovered some automatons that were tending to you and the others being preserved there."

He paused for a moment. "You're a mage of the what? Is this some kinda weird-ass steampunk fantasy cosplay you have going on? Is it Halloween?"

She blinked, taking a second to comprehend the lack of knowledge of the present the man had. "I am a tech-priest... I serve the Machine God and keep the machine-spirits of weapons and vehicles fully functional. Is that what you have trouble understanding?" She looked down at his form, pressed against the wall, hands trembling against the glass. "We did manage to bring you back from your injuries, though much of your organs had to be replaced with implants, in concert with some of your ribs."

He stopped, pondering on her words as he brought a hand down to further examine the left side of his body. Where there was supposed to be flesh, there was only cold, soulless steel. He ran his hands over the plate, something that felt as though it were oddly light for being made of what felt like steel. He grimaced, not wanting to ponder more on the vision of what lie underneath the loose fitting medical tunic he wore, before turning back to the metal woman. "So I was in stasis for..."

 _++Estimated length of suspension is approximately 38 millennia++ ++Exact date inconclusive++_

The Explorator that had come with Felicia, far more mechanical than even her, stepped into the room, a servo-skull floating in as well. What little color was in the man's flesh vanished as he looked at what had once been the head of a living, breathing human being, now covered with primitive-looking wires and plates that caused it to float a mere foot away. It was like the ghost from Eyes... but in real life. And what was there to do against a floating skull?

He punched it. With a fist, he aimed for the skull's singular optic, cracking the thin glass covering the optic even as his knuckle bruised from the impact. As the skull staggered back, with the Magos watching in horror, he slipped behind it, tearing the bundles of wire from the back of the floating automaton. Sparks flew from the optic as the lights on the familiar exploded, the powerless husk falling to the ground, soon to be stepped on a couple dozen times by the man's foot. Did it hurt considering he wasn't wearing any boots? Yes, but he didn't step on anything particularly sharp or pointy, so his feet weren't cut to shreds.

The Explorator had rushed to get help as Felicia desperately tried to stop him from further cracking and harming the skull of what had once been Brother Maynard, a loyal member of the Ecclesiarchy who died saving a Cardinal from a frag grenade tossed at him by a Chaos Cultist some three hundred years prior. Eventually, he stopped before kicking it one final time, sending it flying into the wall. Gasping, he leaned back against the wall, slowly slipping down until he was sitting on the floor. "I won... I killed it..." A loud sigh of relief came from his lips as he did his best to ease his tension.

"You destroyed a sacred relic of the Imperium." The armored form of the Inquisitor known as Edmarius eyed the man who still stared at the mechanical head. He stepped forward, even as the man continued to stare at the lifeless automaton. "Do you realize what sort of crime you've committed?"

 _Skull robot... Brazen head as used by Pope Sylvester II... Night vision... Magnetic anti-gravity repulsion... Hoverboard..._

She reached down, grabbing him by the tunic as he remained in the stunned, trance-like state, trying his best to remain composed in the face of the Ordo Hereticus Inquisitor. Looking at the Magos, he shook his head before an acolyte of his forced the revived human's hands behind his back, cuffing him and taking him out of the room. "Your presence is no longer required, Magos Tayber." A new servo-skull entered the room as the Inquisitor

"This is a matter of heresy. No more, no less."


	2. Chapter 2

_Inquisitorial Holding Cell, Holy Terra, 0 837.999.M41_

"What is your name?"

"Where's my lawyer?"

A slap quickly silenced the man, who fell back in the wooden chair he'd been restrained in. "You have no lawyer, heretic. Whatever rules that may have applied in your time no longer exist. All you obey now are the laws of the Imperium of Man, laid out millennia ago by the God-Emperor himself. Those are-"

"Who?" His ignorance of the individual responsible for the Imperium's creation, in concert with being a partaker in many of the events responsible for the present's current condition, stunned the Inquisitor greatly. "I have no idea who this guy is, but when I find out what happened to this planet..."

She was about to crack him over the head with the butt of her inferno pistol when one of her acolytes stepped into the room. "Madame Inquisitor, an emissary from the High Lords of Terra is here to see you."

She grimaced. "Tell him to come back later, Rosarius. I'm busy extracting information from this heretic."

"The message is regarding him, Madame Inquisitor. They wish for him to be brought before him." She immediately froze, stiff as a board, shocked at what she was hearing.

"But he's a heretic! He destroyed Brother Maynard's servo-skull!" Her face grew more inflamed with rage by the second.

"He's also the oldest human being on the face of the planet, minus the Most Holy Emperor. What he could tell us all might benefit the Imperium, as he comes from an era even before the Dark Age of Technology - when those machines were made." The acolyte defended himself rather astutely, considering that he appeared to be unarmed.

"Um... What machines?" The man in question, yet to have given his name, raised an eyebrow in curiosity. The acolyte, recollecting his unknowing, held a pict-capture of the automaton in front of him to showcase the machines that had been tending to him during his tenure in stasis. His eyes immediately perked up. "Honda was financing that place? Those are P4s. They used to be the most advanced humanoid robots on Earth. How the hell did they survive down there for so long?"

Somewhat stunned at his vernacular, Edmarius looked at him with a newfound feeling of intellectual inferiority. "You... you know what those automatons are?"

"Of course... They were the latest and greatest thing back when I was younger. P4... Ninety minute run time, Five foot three in height, and fully capable of mimicking human movements. I have no idea how these things were still running... Maybe they remanufactured themselves, or maybe they were just lucky enough to not suffer deterioration. Then again, how would the battery packs have-"

"Alright, alright, I get the point." Edmarius sighed, slowly removing his restraints as she looked at him, cybernetic optic partially hidden by the large hat she wore. "Acolyte Rosarius will take you to the High Lords. I hope you aren't easy to make sky-sick..."

"Sky-sick?" He raised an eyebrow. "You do know we had air travel from city to city in my time, right? Though if flying cars exist now, that's cool. We were working on those too back in the day. Of course, they never were marke-"

She stayed silent as Rosarius walked him out of the holding cell, doing his best to stop the man's continual utterances and calm his master's frustration. "Sorry about the Inquisitor... She's just a Puritan through and through when it comes to dealing with these sorts of situations. I suppose I can understand your reasoning for doing what you did, though. They didn't have servo-skulls like that when you were alive, did they?"

"No..." He sighed. "There were skull-looking robots, but using human skulls as parts of any machine was considered an abomination of nature and forbidden in the scientist's ethical code." Turning, he looked back at the still-agitated Inquisitor as they left, hopping in a skycar. "Then again, it seems like a lot of ethical things have gone out the window."

* * *

 _Senatorum Imperialis, Holy Terra, 0 839.999.M41_

The arrival at the sanctum of the High Lords of Terra was met with absolutely no fanfare. On their walk up to the doors, a couple of individuals raised eyebrows at the young man traveling with what was certainly an Inquisitorial acolyte to the Senate, but that was something they didn't need to concern themselves with. It seemed somewhat unusual, yes, but no crowd gathered at all. How fortunate - the last thing he desired was to find himself at the center of a horde of individuals asking several dozen questions at one.

The doors opened, and he found himself led down a hallway to a semicircle of twelve individuals - the High Lords of Terra themselves. The standards were there - the Master of the Administratum, the Inquisitorial Representative, the Ecclesiarch, the Fabricator-General(who sent a chill down his spine even more than the Explorator had), the Grand Provost Marshal of the Adeptus Arbites, the Paternoval Envoy,, the Master of the Astronomican, the Grand Master of the assassin temples, and the Master of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica. Three others were introduced along with the standard nine - the Lord Commander of the Segmentum Solar, the Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes, and the Speaker for the Chartist Captains.

The millennial, as he was introduced by Rosarius, tried his best to not fall asleep during the extended spiel of surnames and titles given to each of the High Lords. It reminded him of stories he had heard of the medieval nightmares of royalty, back when people had thirty middle names. Despite the setback, still he managed to stay awake, a great challenge that he eventually managed to conquer.

And lo, there was a pause post-introduction, one he chose to take advantage of. "Nice to meet you all... But could one of you maybe explain why I'm here? Not gonna say I'm unimpressed, but it seems somewhat pointless."

"You were brought here so that we may show you, the eldest among us, how far amongst the path of righteousness humanity has tread." The Ecclesiarch spoke with an eerie tone - both soothing and disturbing at the same time.

"Indeed." The Inquisitorial Representative concurred. "You will like have more knowledge of archaeotech than any of us. Perhaps we can all find some degree of use for you, one way or another."

"The Emperor's Tarot has spoken of your presence in the future. His plans are for you to become part of His Imperium." The psyker of the group gave a humble nod, and the millennial couldn't help but feel as though there was a heavy dosage of restraint coming from him.

"I shall take you before Him once you have visited the rest of the High Lords' own abodes." The Captain-General, while much taller and more imposing than the younger man who stood at least a head below him, seemed calm and level-headed enough. "But as it is, you will decide where you shall initially travel. We will merely inform you of what our places are, in order to fill in the lack of knowledge you have about what is here and now. Now choose."

Well, this was going to be fun.

 _Adeptus Administratum main building, Holy Terra, 0 842.999.M41_

Of the locations that the millennial chose to visit during his tour of the individual holdings of each of the High Lords of Terra, he first and foremost chose to travel to the Administratum. During his journey, he took the opportunity to access a cogitator and, finding the operating system to be similar to the common operating system he was used to, he used it, in concert with the planetary data-sharing connection(known in his day and age as the internet) to do some quick data examination.

Off the bat, he could tell that a large amount of history had been lost - certainly some had been altered. Most if not all records from his time no longer existed, destroyed thanks to poor record-keeping and, perhaps, censorship. From what he was able to piece together through the ancient fragments of historical texts, in concert with the truth reasonably hidden beneath the veil of censors, humanity's technological development had once been at an extraordinarily high point - plasma weapons, void shields, tanks that ran off of fusion power sources... Even the power armor of his day and age were a reality. There was nothing at all which could stop their expansion throughout the stars.

Then the Men of Iron came. Little was said about what these entities were - there weren't even any descriptions - but as he closed his eyes for a moment, he could practically see a familiar scene playing out before him - machines had become self-aware, considered humanity to be the problem, and attempted to kill the race that had created them. Standard doomsday scenario. Apparently, they had won the war against whatever all-knowing artificial intelligence had formed due to their poor decision, but humanity had lost itself in the process, degenerating into tribes of what the data called "techno-barbarians." He imagined something with a sort of steampunk feel - a guy with an axe in one hand and a submachine gun in the other, riding a dilapidated, mercilessly mauled truck into battle while wearing stop signs beaten into crude armor plate, a relatively traditional post-apocalyptic scenario.

Then came the Emperor. The so-called "God-Emperor of Mankind," seemingly venerated by all human men and women. A man of... intriguing qualities, to say the least, he had apparently arisen in the late twenty-ninth and early thirtieth centuries, in order to conquer the entirety of Earth - now called Terra - and unite it under one rule. His actions, while understandable, paralleled ancient tyrants who had committed similar acts of barbarism, though none had ever reached such a successful degree of genocide. Extermination of those with physical genetic aberrations was something that deeply shocked the millennial, having grown up in an era in which life was considered precious, no matter how crippling the mutation could be.

The Emperor was a master of the once-forbidden art of genetic tampering. He created what many would've sold their souls to have - super-soldiers. Thunder Warriors, immensely loyal, muscular, fanatical troops in powered armor who were willing to fight and die for their warlord, their Emperor. With such, he had killed his enemies and, to top off his atrocities, banned every last religion, destroying all places of worship on the entirety of Terra. One could argue about the usefulness of religion regarding greater society, whether faith in a god or gods was true or merely beneficial, but depriving all individuals of such a fundamental right disturbed him to an extreme degree.

But they weren't enough. A new set of the new man was created - the Primarchs and their Space Marine legions. These replaced the Thunder Warriors after all of them died out due to the war - sacrificing themselves for a greater cause as always. The Emperor's army, now fully equipped, crusaded throughout the galaxy, conquering worlds, killing aliens... A great Empire in a tumultuous sea of squabbling factions.

But then something happened.

The circumstances of what caused the Horus Heresy, as it was called, were vague in the texts. What it did tell was that half of the legions turned on the Emperor, led by his son Horus. The two eventually fought a battle that was won by the Emperor after the death of Sanguinius, one of his sons, who sacrificed his life to damage the armor that the fallen Primarch wore so that the superman could finally kill him. The report also mentioned the importance of Ollanius Pius, an Imperial Guardsman who protected the Emperor from Horus while he was downed before being killed, but such seemed to be rather legendary a story.

Eventually, the mortally wounded Emperor was entombed in a life support system called the Golden Throne, something he imagined as particularly ornate, maybe even capsule-like. The Primarchs who remained loyal served as ersatz defenders of the Imperium, led by Roboute Guilliman. All eventually died off, leaving mankind to govern itself. What the millennial found to be strange in particular was that of all those who would've started such radical veneration of the Emperor as people in the Imperium seemed to feel today, it was Lorgar, Primarch of the Word Bearers - but he had turned away from the Emperor, which raised the question as to where this cult had come from. Perhaps a schismatic group of his old followers were responsible.

Then there was some history, a guy with the most evil name he'd ever heard - Goge Vandire - who got beheaded by a fanatical woman that was once his bodyguard, Sebastian Thor, the Sisters of Battle, the coming of the Tyranids, and many other less-important things. But what mattered now was his visit of the Administratum.

His attention slowly returned to the High Lord in question. Of them all, the Master of the Administratum appeared to be relatively lacking in cybernetic enhancements, though his skin was an almost unnatural shade of pale tan. He clearly didn't get out much. "Welcome to the headquarters of the Administratum. From here, our core divisions and offices send out required information to our other divisions elsewhere in the Imperium."

"Cool... So it's like a business. The headquarters has most of the important company stuff in one place, but sends info out to other branches around the world. If I'm getting that analogy right."

"Relatively similar to your depiction, yes." The Master nodded. "Resources such as food, weapons, supplies, and other items are all managed and disseminated from here on Holy Terra."

"Hmm." So far so good. "How many departments do you have?"

He paused, unsure of how to best answer the millennial's question. Truthfully, he was unsure himself. "Thousands, certainly. Why do you ask?"

"Well... Back in my time, we kept things simple and efficient in order to allow for the best flow of goods from one location to another without devouring excess resources. I mean, you guys wouldn't happen to have a department detailing the best way to wipe your ass after using the shitter, would you?"

"No..." The head of the Administratum paused. "I believe such falls under the Officio Medicae."

For the first of what would likely be many times, the younger man brought his hand to his face in a swift motion. He had no idea if the High Lord would understand the meaning of the gesture, but was baffled as to why what he assumed to be the Imperium's department regarding public health would attempt to micro-manage even the slightest facet of hygiene. "Alright... I want to share a secret with you. A really successful government back in my time used this technique to become an industrial powerhouse." It was pretty much a lie - but he knew that anything remotely run as a company could benefit from this sort of advice. The High Lord nodded, moving in to accept the advice from before the Dark Age of Technology.

"Audit. Audit. Audit. Seriously, I'm not joking about this. You need to find out every single division you have, what it does, and which is being successful at what it's supposed to do. Cut down the waste and expenditure to make sure that you run as efficiently as possible. If two organizations are doing the same thing, merge them, or have one stop doing a thing in particular. If a division is wasting resources and not getting results, downsize it, and if that doesn't work, dissolve it and reassign its personnel elsewhere. You want to maximize the ratio of resources you're putting in with the work you're getting out."

For a man hundreds of years older than the millennial, the Master of the Administratum seemed to have never thought of such a concept. For what reasons, the cryogenically-preserved human didn't know - maybe the Imperium had been around in its current state for so long that no one had thought of the idea. Or maybe it was a more overarching thing based around the tenets of socialism. Hopefully, this would assist the organization in some fashion or another... The last thing he required was finding out that humanity had become more incompetent than the most daft of dictators from his time.

Unfortunately, he had no idea just how far that mankind's mentality had fallen.


	3. Chapter 3

_Fast Clipper Menander, in orbit over Holy Terra, 1 850.999.M41_

The first of many gifts from the future had come forward - prior to leaving the Administratum, the Master had given the defrosted millennial a white robe as a parting gift, along with the honorary title as an Adept of the Administorum's Adeptus Terra. A lovely gesture, he mused, though he was hardly an extraordinary example of his time - he merely had good memory and common sense. Such seemed to work well as he was taken via shuttle to his next location in his tour of the Imperium - the Fast Clipper known as the _Menander_. Apparently, this merchant ship had proven a successful blockade runner during a recent conflict called the Third War of Armageddon, a fight between the Imperium and a race called the Orks. He didn't have to take a step forward in logic to understand - he'd seen enough media in his time to know what an Ork was: big, humanoid greenskins with axes and large tusk-like teeth, wearing scraps of crudely formed clothing.

A ship that had received Imperial Citations for Bravery five times in a row now was hardly a surprising meeting place. It was somewhere that seemed to be most comfortable - and yet there was a degree of practicality as well. With the war over, the _Menander_ and its sister ship, the _Upsalla_ , were soon to be taken to the Adeptus Mechanicus shipyards over Mars and refitted for future tours of duty, though there was a growing faction of veterans of the ships' crews who wished for them to be permanently moored in the Armageddon system as relic-temples. Then again, he wasn't here to partake in such a dispute...

The Speaker for the Chartist Captains seemed a bit more mechanical than the Master of the Administratum, but that was only due to his attire - He wore a form-fitting, gold-embroidered jumpsuit, strange in appearance, yet undeniably luxurious in a fashion. Atop his head was a strange device that produced a mostly transluscent holographic image in front of him - constant updates on various merchant ships as relayed through the Imperium's network of astropaths. Upon spotting his guest, he gave an oddly jovial smile, albeit only awkwardly accepting the offered hand as it shook his own. Apparently handshakes had been long forgotten as a means of introduction.

"Welcome to the _Menander_. I apologize that we are not meeting at the Segmentum Fortress, but such seemed a more fitting locale for your introduction to the Merchant Fleets of the Imperium." He paused for a moment, a question forming on the tip of his tongue before finally realizing itself and succumbing to vocalization. "If I might inquire... What sort of merchant fleets existed in your day and age?"

He thought for a bit... There wasn't much he really remembered about international shipping. "Well... There were both military and civilian merchant fleets. The former were used for transfer of material throughout a theater of combat, while the latter were often used to transport consumer goods from place to place. Traditionally, merchant ships were owned by companies that specialized in transport, and would fly the flag of the country they'd been registered with."

"Ah." the Speaker's grin oddly remained. "So not much has really changed from your point of view, aside from the change of water being replaced with space?"

"It was considered inevitable that humanity would expand to the stars - I just don't know why merchant fleets are all under Imperium control. It's like Soviet Russia up in here." A nationalized naval transport system did seem rather dystopian to him.

"It does allow for efficiency and unity - not to mention the standardization of ship types. Merchantmen, freighters, Q-ships..."

"Wait." The millennial paused. "You still use Q-ships?"

The Speaker was surprised that he knew what Q-ships were. "You recognize the term?"

"Yeah..." He recalled reading about them in a history class. "They're freighters that are secretly armed to the teeth, usually mixed in with a convoy and used to bait enemy submarines. Sub thinks it's an easy target, pulls alongside to order the ship to strike its colors - and bam! It gets sunk with cannon fire at less than fifty yards. They don't even know what hit them."

The High Lord gave a slow nod. "That's... similar to what we utilize. What's a submarine, though? I've never heard of such a thing."

"It's basically a... What's the best analog to use..." The very name spoke of an underwater craft, but shipping was nonexistent. What analog could he utilize in its stead?

"Okay, imagine that you have a ship. And there's an enemy ship, hiding within a pocket of this Warp thing. It can sense you, stalk you, aim at you... And just when the time is right, a torpedo appears out of nowhere and smacks into the side of your ship, blowing it wide open. You can only guess where it came from, but now your ship's dead in space, and about to get boarded. Now imagine that the ship in question is in an ocean, not in space, and the submarine is in water, not the Warp. That's basically it."

"Ah." The Merchant Fleet's voice nodded - evidently, much was similar between the past and present. "Would you happen to have any advice regarding methods by which we could most efficiently increase the flow of goods?"

"All I really can think of is knowing how to manage convoy and ship size for the type of goods being delivered to a specific planet. So long as you make sure you don't use too many or too few, you should be alright. There should always be Q-ships, or freighters with guns, or generally some sort of escort, though - from what I've read, the Imperium isn't a safe place to be ship-wise, and you'll always need protection." The threat of piracy was very real, from what he recollected.

The Speaker nodded once more before motioning to the living time capsule, leading him down a flight of stairs next to one of the clipper's tremendous engines. He had seen the engines of old freighters on Earth, and those were nothing compared to this, especially considering the small size of the ship he'd seen on the shuttle coming in. Underneath the two engines was the fast clipper's small hangar bay, and inside, sitting next to the shuttle he had come in on, was a large, somewhat clunky ship.

"What is it?"

"An Arvus Lighter. Commonly used by the Imperial Navy as a supply ship, and occasionally used by the Merchant Fleets as a small tanker. This vessel has an extended hull, as well as all the bells and whistles - ejector seat, flare and chaff launchers, armored cockpit, and Illium flares." He paused, smiling and admiring the flabbergasted look on the preserved human's face. "It's yours now, under a Heredity Free Charter, applicable to the Segmentum Solar. Per this charter, you and you alone have the right to determine who inherits the vessel upon your death. You may trade freely throughout the Segmentum Solar, with no restrictions on routes, established, sparse, or otherwise."

"Well damn..." He was unsure as to how to fly the thing, and would probably almost kill himself just trying, but it was certainly worth a shot. "Thanks... No idea why I'm getting these gifts, but I'll go with it. I assume you're gonna include a manual of how the hell I'm supposed to fly this thing? Or do I just turn autopilot on and start sipping cocktails like a boss?"

"The ship's machine-spirit will... hopefully be cooperative with you." The Speaker smirked in a sly way. Truthfully, this vessel had caused trouble before to the last captain who had abandoned the ship's charter and settled down as an arms manufacturer on an unnamed Feudal World. Apparently the ship's machine-spirit constantly insulted him in status reports, changing records and, per his final statement, was 'generally being a dick' - a logical explanation considering the 'Onager's' temperament. "I suppose you could take it to your next destination, if you wish."

"I suppose I might as well." He nodded, thanking the Speaker for the discussion and visit before stepping inside the loading ramp of the small cargo hauler and sitting down in the pilot's chair. The ship seemed to hum to life around him as a screen on the cockpit indicated the status of the vessel.

+Thrusters: 95% max thrust+

+Internal capacity: Empty+

+Fuel: 73% full+

+Pilot asshole rating: 83/100+

A quick whack on the console from the millennial caused the last line to disappear - the ship had a well-worn feel to it as the vessel slowly took off from the hangar of the _Menander_. This was home now. A home away from the home he'd grown to know and love back in the day.

Then again, home was where the heart was, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

_Undercity, Holy Terra, 0 853.999.M41_

The last thing that the millennial had expected during his visit to the third location - the Adeptus Arbites - was to find himself being sent out by the Grand Provost Marshal on what was considered to be a "standard exercise." Apparently, there was some sort of Chaos death cult in the undercity that was threatening to spread, and to prove that he was worth something in this day and age, the High Lord had sent him along as part of a squad to handle the situation with the authority of an Arbitrator of the Adeptus Arbites - complete with an ill-fitting suit of carapace armor, a power maul, and a suppression shield. He had barely learned how to use his weapons while riding the Repressor to the site of the cultist-infested building when he and a half-dozen others were released from the vehicle, along with a Senior Judge named Traggat. In the event that anyone came out of the situation wounded(almost a guarantee), a Samaritan ambulance was on the scene to provide medical care.

"Alright... Boson and Higgs will stay to the sides of the door." Traggat planned out the entrance strategy on how best they would engage the murderous assassins within, ceasing their pernicious rituals in the name of Khorne. "The rest of you will flood in after me. And you..." He pointed directly at the ancient human. "You will break down the door."

Considering that this man was one of the most ruthless judges in the entire Imperium, possibly even the entire galaxy, he had very little choice in the matter. Mumbling quietly under his breath, glad that he had no idea how to turn the vox caster in the helmet on, he stepped forward and prepared the power maul for action.  
 _  
Let's see... Pull the handle out... Rotate to the highest setting... Push the handle in... Turn the weapon on..._

Once the mental run-through of activating the power maul had been completed, he took the suppressor shield and slipped it over his back, grasping the energy field-covered weapon with both hands before swinging it at the door. What happened next was something that the Arbitrators did not expect.

Ordinarily, the door was expected to be sent back only a short distance after a couple of swings had damaged the hinges. The millennial's way of doing things having been oddly traditional, smashing a target with the hardest swing you could make before it broke. The energy field, in concert with the resulting amount of physical force used, busted a tremendous hole in the door, whose edges glowed white hot before the blockage slowly fell to the ground, the hinges unable to maintain integrity. On the far side of the wall was one of the assassins, a man garbed entirely in a leather bodysuit from head to toe. He was dead, as fragments of the door were sent flying down the hallway, perforating his skull and torso while pinning his fresh remains to the wall. He appeared to be the only one there - which meant that the others were inevitably hiding.

There was a hallway in the back of the room. Higgs was sent around the corner first - and came across a quartet of female assassins who grabbed him, blood and gore rushing from around the corner as the Khornate cultists devoured his still-living flesh. His screams became gurgled, a sign of his throat having been slit, as the millennial moved towards the corner.

 _Let's see... They're around the corner, and they know I'll be coming... They're waiting for me... But what if I..?_

Well, it was worth a shot. Grabbing the power maul with both hands once more, he slammed it at the corner, sending chunks of plasteel and concrete flying through the hallway. He quickly brought up the suppressor shield, activating it just in time to electrocute a wounded assassin into unconsciousness. Two others were dead, along with the headless corpse of Higgs, and a blood trail indicated that another, though wounded, had escaped further into the building. It was a simple single-story place, and the Arbitrators began to spread out through the building, looking for any other assassins that had hidden away, storm shields at the ready.

Traggat and the millennial followed the blood trail through a winding pathway in the building before it stopped at a seemingly solid wall. Before he could pound it into dust, however, Traggat took out his shotgun and cocked a hellfire round, burning away the 'solid' wall with a potent acid and revealing a pathway down into the basement of the building. A faint noise and eerie purple light could be seen - though what these were signs of, no one knew. Well, he didn't know. Traggat and the others more than likely would recognize it for what it was.

He was cautious now, having pressed the button to turn his power maul off for the time being while inching down the hallway, looking over the suppressor shield as he moved as quietly as he could down the hallway. He was forced to move a more manageable speed, though, as Traggat shoved him forward, tired of 'wasting time,' as he viewed it. Eventually, the two would enter the basement to find a horrifying sight.

Higgs' head was at the middle of a circle of a half-dozen cultists, including the wounded one, whose blood flowed on top of the cranium. A strange energy seemed to pulsate as the head's eyes looked around, jaw opening in senseless agony as flesh was soon burned away. The other remaining Arbitrators soon caught up to the pair in time to watch as the head cultist touched a crude metal rod with a crystal sphere on the end to the skull, mouth open, bone bleached as though it had been left in the desert for years. A glowing essence seemed to come from the mouth of what had once been the top of a noble Arbitrator, entering the gem before it was pressed against the wounded cultist, her blood seemingly conducting the arcane sorcery that was being practiced.

Flesh cracked, as she vomited blood and gore, her body stretching, twisting, changing... The power of Chaos flowed through her as she surrendered herself to the will of the Blood God, the cult's offering accepted as a daemon slowly took its place in the mortal realm. What had been a lowly human was no longer - there was only a crimson red creature, elongated skull capped with tremendous horns. Spikes stabbed from its flesh, hooved legs hinged further back than a chicken's as a weapon of truly horrific proportions materialized in its hand - a blade that looked as though it had been forged in the very fires of hell itself. With a horrifying roar, the daemon rushed forward, preparing to engage Traggat.

The judge was not a man to enjoy close combat - he brought up a chainsword to engage the blade of the Khornate abomination before attempting to fire a spread of shells from his shotgun into the creature, who quickly dodged it as though it had phased out of existence for a brief moment. Grabbing Traggat with a claw, the devilish monstrosity tossed him against the far wall, and would've engaged him had the millennial not shoved his shield into the daemon's back. Electricity arced over the Bloodletter's flesh as it cried out in agony, giving the most senior Arbites an opportunity to slowly recover as the beast turned to engage the carapace-armored figure.

A pound on the shield with the Hellblade was resisted. Then two, then three. On the fourth try, though, the Bloodletter stabbed, piercing the electroshock unit and effectively neutering the bulwark's protective capability. Another slash tore most of the upper portion of the shield away, and the millennial found himself standing with only a power maul to protect himself with. The daemon growled before rushing towards the human who was far older than he appeared - a maul was hardly the weapon to fight a sword with.

With the power having been turned to full, he swung the power weapon at the floor. The resulting shockwave caused the Bloodletter to trip, falling forward in its charge as he ducked to the side. Seeing an opportunity, however, he snagged one of the seven foot tall beast's flesh-spikes, using the leverage to get on top of the fallen daemon as he, again and again, slammed the maul onto the creature's head, trying desperately to kill it. The horrific beast was similar to the most grotesque creatures of his time all wrapped into one, and it needed to die.

But the power maul simply couldn't cut it. Soon its power died, leaving the millennial as well-armed as a primitive with a stick, the daemon rearing up and sending him flying back a ways off the back of Khorne's servant. As it turned around, though, the blast of glowing shards of metal went through its head, and it fell lifelessly to the ground. This was certainly Traggat's doing, and indeed it had been. "Cryptus shells... Only that which is holy can properly send the servants of Chaos back to the Warp where they belong."

The few surviving cultists found themselves being dragged to the front in various stages of physical condition. Many had broken or bruised ribs, and one was paralyzed from the waist down thanks to the strike of a power maul to the middle of his spine. Lined up in front of the building, the Judge looked them all over, nothing but contempt found on his face for their heretical actions.

"By the laws of the Most Holy God Emperor of Mankind's Imperium as eternally bound within the Book of Judgement," he took his shotgun in one hand, "I sentence you to the appropriate punishment for your crimes." Raising it, he fired at the head of the first cultist, blowing it into a mass of brains and other gore before doing the same slowly and surely down the line. Once the corpses in question were made permanently dead through driving the Arbitrators' Repressor over them several times, the bloodied paste was left in front of the building as a sign to those who would commit heresy against the Emperor - their fate would be sealed, the same of all traitors.

Two of the Arbitrators were left in front of the building, to await a team that would begin the process of purging all Chaos iconography. A priest of the Ecclesiarchy would eventually be brought in to reconsecrate it to the Emperor, making it a suitable residence or place of commerce once more. And as he pondered over the distressing thought that daemons were even more horrifying than history had recorded, Traggat eyed him with a stare he couldn't ignore, even in carapace armor.

"You performed... adequately, considering that this was your first experience in the field. Your handling of the daemon was somewhat impressive, though the destruction of that suppressor shield means we will need a new pair of weapons. And thanks to that, you may keep your power maul, though you will return the armor before leaving. The Grand Provost Marshal was impressed by your performance and complements you - his favor is my favor." So it seemed, anyways - he didn't seem to enthused by what the millennial had done.

 _This is even worse of a future than Stephen Hawking predicted..._

But was it truly? He had predicted the destruction of the human race - and in a way, he had been correct. Humanity as it had once existed was no more, a twisted mockery of its former self forged by adapting cultured from the anarcho-primitive existence of what had been the techno-barbarian tribes. But while Hawking believed there to not be angels or demons, the millennial's encounter certainly seemed to have disproved that theory. Apparently, there were places, even on Earth, where the most barbaric of rituals were still conducted, rituals considered anathema even during his time alive.

And it was only going to get worse.


	5. Chapter 5

_Apocalypse-class Battleship Duke Helbrecht, in orbit over Holy Terra, 1 857.999.M41_

The meeting with the Paternoval Envoy was to occur on board one of the largest ships in the Imperial Navy - an Apocalypse-class Battleship. As the millennial flew his small ship towards the hangar, he had to admit that he was very impressed by the ship's design. There was an absolutely massive cannon running the length of the vessel, a weapon he guessed was comparable to the main armament of ships only speculated about in fictitious works. Finally entering the hangar, his ship was taken into service by a Tech-Priest and a pair of servitors. The former eyed him, seemingly with awe, for a bit before he got to work with the maintenance of the Arvus Lighter in question.

A caged deck elevator was what took him to the ship's bridge, where the envoy awaited him. Upon first sight, he could hardly believe that she - at least from the bumps on her torso implying that the High Lord was a she - was a human being. Her eyes were solid black, her skin scaly yet somewhat translucent, like that of some kind of albino. Webbed flesh clung in between the digits of her hand, and she wore a bandana over her completely hairless scalp - come to think of it, she didn't even appear to have eyelashes or eyebrows. The staff she held in her hand was topped with the golden Aquila symbol he had seen used on his journeys, though below it was a rather archaic-styled representation of an eye. No curls or other ornamentation surrounding it - just the eye itself.

"Welcome." She smiled, her voice surprisingly smooth and a drastic contrast to her appearance. "Being that we Navigators have a particularly unique set of skills, it was best that you were brought here to this vessel. We are going to demonstrate to you the drastic advance in spaceflight capabilities - as well as the power of the Navigator sub-species of humanity. Before we begin, do you have any questions?"

"Well..." He started - many questions were running through his mind regarding the Paternoval Envoy, Navigators, the Warp, and space-travel in general. "For starters, what is a Navigator, and why's it important enough to have a High Lord spot?"

She looked down on him from her lithe height. "Navigators are humans who carry a certain gene that allows them a significant level of interaction with the Warp. This interaction occurs thanks to the addition of an extra eye to our bodies - the so-called "Warp Eye." It allows us to peer into the Warp and best chart a course through it on behalf of the captain of whatever vessel we are on. I cover it for your own safety - anyone who stares directly at the eye will be instantly annihilated by its raw power."

"Okay..." That sort of made sense, though he wondered whether Navigators were a true mutation of humanity from over the millennia, or whether they had been artificially mutated. His thoughts were towards the latter - their suitability for the role they played seemed far too perfect to have become that way through chance alone. "Could you possibly explain a bit more to me about what the Warp is? I haven't exactly experienced it yet..."

She nodded, eyed looking at him vacantly. "The Warp is a parallel dimension where daemons are found. Starships such as this one travel through it in order to perform faster-than-light travel. Such technology dates even before the Imperium, and the Navigator families of the Navis Nobilite have existed since the Dark Age of Technology."

"Families?" He couldn't help but be interested in such. "How does that work?"

"The Navigator Gene is semi-recessive. A Navigator can only be born from Navigator parents - not a Navigator mother and a human male, or a human mother and a Navigator male."

"Ah, I see." He understood why she said 'semi-recessive.' Apparently, even a fragment of standard human DNA would effectively neuter the mutating power of the Navigator gene - whereas a truly recessive gene could still pop up in children who had received it solely from a mutant father or mother. This only further supported his thoughts on their artificially-created origins. "Wait, you said there are daemons in the Warp... Like that Bloodletter creature I fought with the Arbites?"

"Indeed." She nodded once more. "And congratulations on surviving that encounter. Not many humans would be willing to face a daemon in such an emboldened manner - particularly one dedicated to the most pernicious of the heretical entities." He smiled, surprised to receive such a word of praise before she continued. "All ships equipped with warp drives are also fitted with Gellar field generators. These, as their name suggests, generated what is known as a Gellar field - essentially a bubble of realspace within the Warp, protecting the ship and its crew from any daemons lurking within its nebulous confines." How it worked, she didn't know - then again, she wasn't a tech-priest. "If you'll sit down in one of the bridge chairs, we can begin. The _Duke Helbrecht_ will be taking a short trip to the system you know as Alpha Centauri. We will arrive, wait there for half a standard hour so the warp drive can recharge, then return to orbit over Holy Terra. From there, you can move on to your next visit."

Taking a seat, he watched as she sat down, placing a helmet over her head once she herself was seated. The captain of the vessel commanded the helmsman to initiate the warp drive, and a great wormhole-like formation formed. The Envoy tugged behind her head, removing the bandana and exposing her Warp Eye to the temporary tear in space and time. Slowly the great battleship moved forward, slipping further and further into the hole until they were fully within the Warp itself.

"Gellar fields are holding steady."

The Envoy, who seemed to be in an almost trance-like state, began to rattle off corrections at a lightning pace, so fast that the millennial could hardly keep up. Whatever it was, the helmsman certainly was well-attuned to what she was saying, as he altered the course of the battleship while it traveled through the Warp. After a good fifteen minutes, another hole was created, and out the battleship exited - in orbit of the star once known as Proxima Centauri itself. Slowly, he found himself clapping, truly amazed that Alpha Centauri - what was once believed to be a star system it would take decades to reach - could now be traveled to in less than half an hour. Travel speed was certainly better than he'd ever expected - and the cost was free in comparison to the ludicrous sums to merely enter orbit that were common when he was alive in his own time.

But something was soon amiss. Sensors began to ping as ships started to come from out of nowhere, flying straight towards the larger, less maneuverable warship. They didn't respond to any sort of hail - only opening fire on the battleship in question during its moment of weakness. "Dammit," the captain swore... "Dark Eldar. They must be trying to take the ship and her crew."

"What are Dark-"

"Shut up and get down to the hangar bay. They'll try and board the ship any minute. It's not a matter of if we get boarded, but when, and how long we can hold them off. Knife-eared freaks'll chop our understaffed naval officers to pieces..."

Knife-eared? Yep, definitely evil space-elves. He nodded, heading off the bridge and pressing the button on the elevator as fast as he could. The fighting had started in one of the hangars from what he could hear - if it was the hangar his ship was in, he would be in trouble seeing as his power maul was inside. Unfortunately, such was the case, and as he reached the overhang, he spotted a sloppily-landed bomber, a quartet of pale-skinned elves with scarlet ponytails and razor barb-coated sword-whips were battling against a squad of Imperial Navy officers, hiding behind some cargo crates. One of the space elves lashed down on the cover, sending splinters of plasteel flying as the tip of the horrifying weapon caught an officer in the head, her return strike dissecting it from his body and sending both flying.

 _Distraction... What to do... Maybe..._

He looked, and there on the wall, likely for the same reason as was typically used, was a fire extinguisher, a warning held onto it by a thin metal pin. Yanking the pin out in time to see another officer wasted by a wych's razorflail, he quickly tied the stretched-out pin around the handle before tossing the active extinguisher over the side of the mezzanine. Powdery foam began to fly across the impromptu battlefield, some of it covering the bodies and faces of the assailing Dark Eldar, blinding them with a spray of choking chemicals. As they screamed, struggling to scrape the soapy substance off their bodies, the millennial quickly got into the Arvus Lighter, finding his fully-charged power maul and stepping out. As he activated it and rushed towards the women, his distraction proved to be their undoing, the officers taking the women down with their naval pistols as they prepared to assail him. Out of the squad that had come down to the hangar, a mere fire team's worth of individuals had survived the confrontation, and half of the quartet were wounded.

They were afraid. They couldn't possibly have approached the situation logically - not with the level of propaganda drilled into their heads, the corpses of their former fellows not withstanding. Such was why now was the time the millennial chose to take command. "Alright... We're going to do something incredibly stupid. Can one of you determine which of those two ships are the lead one?"

The officer with the most ornate uniform nodded. "Their communications mostly go one way - the ship issuing them likely has the group's leader on board. We may not be assassins... But it's possible for us to get on board and at least act as a distraction so the _Duke_ can get underway and back into the Warp."

"See, there you go." He sighed, bringing his hand to his face with a barely audible smack. "You need a further forward mindset. Seriously, do you have any fucking idea what a sergeant in my day would do to you for thinking like that? No, we're gonna go over there and skull-fuck some bitches to show we're the baddest motherfuckers in the goddamn game!" He gave his best impression of an enraged drill sergeant. raising his power maul. "Who's with me?"

The officers didn't show enthusiasm. They didn't react. But what they did do was nod and collect whatever weapons and ammunition they could from their fallen comrades. The millennial himself began to take the least damaged pieces of carapace armor off two of the dead officers, just to give himself some form of protection better than what the debaucherous druchii had been wearing. With everything solidly secured, the quintet of warriors lifted off from the battleship's hangar, preparing for a suicide mission.

After all, there were hundreds of thousands of Imperial lives in the balance.


	6. Chapter 6

_Space Battlefield, Alpha Centauri, 2 857.999.M41_

When he had faced down the Bloodletter, the millennial thought for certain that his time alive was going to be very quickly cut short. Somehow, he had come out of that alive, and for that, he was thankful. But that was one nigh-invincible, impossible-to-hit foe. He had seen wyches in action, and saw what their oddly kinky weapons were capable of. Blood was still stained on one of the officer's boots from the split-open head of a naval officer who'd suffered a fatal wound at the hands of one of the evil space-elves' razorflails. As the Arvus Lighter took off out of the ship's hangar, the battlefield could more clearly be seen - the _Duke Helbrecht_ was in rough shape, and though it took the fire of the Dark Eldar-acquired wraithships rather gracefully, it was incapable of bringing the full might of its firepower to bear against them, as the ships consistently maneuvered to the rear sides of the cumbersome vessel.

"Shit... How to fix this... What do we have supply-wise?" He paused, letting the machine-spirit take over flying for the time being as he looked over the inventory of salvaged equipment - all of them wore carapace armor, in pretty poor condition. In the cache were enough naval pistols that each of them could have a pair, two combat knives, five frag grenades, and... Yes, that was it! Something that looked like an explosive. "I assume this thing knows how to go boom, right?"

One of the officers nodded. "It's a basic melta bomb. I'm not entirely sure what we can do with it, though."

He paused, thinking for a moment as to the best way to solve the situation. "Well... We could toss the melta bomb at the ship's bridge and see if that has any effect. Let's not go after the command ship first, though - the commander watching one of their ships burn will make a foolish move out of anger, and maybe we can get the bastard behind this." He motioned to one of the officers. "Prepare to set the fuse and jettison it out the waste hatch."

Returning to the ship's controls, the archaic human began to pilot the ship towards the bridge of the lesser wraithship, the one communications were being sent to. "Ready to jettison in three... Two... One... Now!"

The melta bomb would faintly beep before hurtling into the void from the waste disposal chamber. The humans pulled up from their dive directly towards the transparent bridge of the wraithship, watching as the wyches inside spent their final seconds in shock. Then it impacted... And what was the result? The extremely thin, transparent material of the bridge found itself blown away by the potent explosive, the depressurization causing the wraithbone to twist and crumble, debris and the bodies of the dead Dark Eldar in question floating through the void as a gush of false atmosphere dispersed throughout the battlefield. One of their corpses thumped against the exterior of the small freighter's hull as it twisted to get away from the debris field, attempting to remain ignorant of the souls unwittingly sacrificed to Slaanesh.

The effect of the bridge on the pirates' vessel had been immediate. With helm control lost, the wraithship listed to one side, floating in a straight line as the captain ordered that the Apocalypse be directed towards it. The Nova Cannon was powered up, gravimetric impellers charging. On the notification that the weapon was primed, the order to "FIRE!" was given, with predictable results. While the wraithship was too close to the battleship for the projectile to arm, the sheer mass and speed of the round sent it piercing through the Dark Eldar vessel, shattering the craft in two, the force of the impact even knocking the debris out of orbit and sending it hurtling towards the planet below. Now there was merely a matter of the other wraithship to deal with...

"Well, any other ideas? We have any melta bombs?" The officers shook their head as the millennial gave a frustrated growl. "Dammit, how are we gonna cripple that other vessel?"

++Object on scanners++  
++Scanning... Object identified. Dreadclaw-class Drop Pod. Chapter identification: Ultramarines. Distance: 10km++

"A derelict, likely..." He pondered over how well preserved it was, having been left in the void for so long. "What do any of you know about this Dreadclaw?

++Formerly used by the Adeptus Astartes as a drop pod, removed from service due to over-active machine-spirit. Pod appears to still be functional, may be docked with++

"But it could be infested by Chaos!" One of the officers cried out. "Only Chaos Marines use them... They say the machine-spirit was corrupted from the beginning."

"Does it have the ability to cut through a ship hull?"

++Affirmative. Vessel can provide airtight seal with ship hull to allow passengers inside access to target ship. Melta-cutters will allow access inside enemy vessel++

"No, no, no!" The officer who previously has showcased reservations spoke out. "I am _not_ getting on board a Chaos-tainted hunk of mechanical filth like that!"

"Fine. You wanna bitch out, you can stay here. I'll move us closer to that drop pod... Anyone else who wants to play the part of a pussy and back out, speak now or forever hold your peace." Slowly the small freighter moved towards the pod before cautiously docking with it. "Atmosphere stabilizing... Docking engaged... Alright. Let's get inside this thing ASAP."

Rushing to the back of the Arvus Lighter, he opened the rear airlock to reveal that no one, and nothing in general, was inside the pod. It was a derelict, lifeless and completely empty. While he had no knowledge of the circumstances of this pod's abandonment, the officers knew - it was likely jettisoned from a Battle Barge during the Horus Heresy due to its machine-spirit being easily swayed to the side of Chaos. This one, however, seemed to not exhibit any sort of quirk as they quickly ran through what could've been considered a simple reactivation rite. The pod was operational from what they could tell as the millennial disengaged the link with the Arvus Lighter, returning the cowardly naval officer back to the battleship... as well as _his_ power maul. For now, it seemed he was somewhat armless.

The Dreadclaw came to life as its thrusters ignited for the first time in millennia, the cold of space having, for the most part, preserved it well as it was guided towards the last mission it would likely serve for the Emperor. Its melta-cutters were primed and ready to burn through the thin wraithbone of the bridge as it hurtled towards the Druchii ship, all of its occupants bound in restraints that were never meant to protect normal humans.

 _++woof woof woof woof: 40 woof++_

Apparently, the machine-spirit of the Dreadclaw had gone insane at some point, now believing itself to be a loyal dog serving the Emperor as a hunting hound - and the biggest, juiciest chunk of meat was right there in front of it... It had to sink those claws into the hull and bring the kill back to its master.

 _++woof woof 20 woof. Woof woof, woof woof woof++_

Tensing up, the millennial knew that this would likely be his final ride - but at least he would've saved a ship full of humans from wanton ravaging space-elves. To him, this was a pyrrhic blessing in another form too - his thoughts on the behavior of the blade-eared species believed to be fictional were vindicated in the face of those who viewed such entities as pacifistic beings, ethereally enlightened over the common man. Five seconds passed. Then ten. Then twenty...

And impact. The claws impaled the the vessel's hull, melta-cutters burning away a hole as the airlock opened... right into the bridge of a completely empty starship. Not a single soul could be found... Yet he couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched. That feeling came to a climax as the officer to the right of him gurgled, his throat slashed as though by an invisible force. The one on the right grabbed his sidearm, soon finding his head removed from his body before he could even ponder taking a shot. The last of the naval officers looked left and right, only to feel a pair of cool hands wrench his head apart, snapping his neck and killing him instantly as his body fell to the ground.

"My my... It seems that the raid Vect coerced me on brought forth a prize of incalculable value." The sultriest voice he had ever heard resonated around him as he hurriedly grasped a pair of naval pistols. "And such vigor... His soul could provide me life for another millennia. Perhaps he may prove more useful as a slave for Reri, however." Still the voice was disconnected, echoing throughout the bridge, with no source seemingly in sight. And then, she showed herself.

Wearing some of the most scandalous armor he had ever seen - not even the dead wyches in the hangar had armor this minimalistic - the red-haired, pale-skinned woman held two knives in her hands, a sadistic grin on her green-eyed face as she slowly took a step towards the millennial. Her hair was filled with sharp blades skillfully woven into her long and luscious locks - she would likely be quite a threat if she chose to whip her hair back and forth. "Your skill in dispatching one of my ships was impressive... Your usefulness to me may potentially know no bounds. Perhaps I might turn you over to the haemonculi, should you not be fit to satiate my daughter's desires. Your flesh will then hang in my relic room..."

He raised a pistol at her. "Who the fuck are you and why do you look like a Twi'lek cavewoman?"

"I am Lelith Hesperax." Her voice was so soothing, yet so dripping with malice and ill intent. "Overseer of the Crucibael. Victorious gladiatrix of the arenas. Chief Succubus of the Cult of Strife. Queen of Commorragh... and soon to be your new master. Unless..." Delicate eyebrows scrunched as she pondered the situation over. "Reri needs to earn her position as a wych. Darling..." She looked back into the shadows, another woman slowly appearing from within them. She appeared similar feature-wise to Lelith herself, but was a bit shorter. As well, her ears were smaller and less blatantly pointed, her corset-like attire revealing less skin, and her auburn ponytail free of blades. An armored plate protected her left shoulder as she wielded a pair of weapons - one that looked like some sort of great trident, and the other that appeared to be a rather standard falchion.

"Have fun, darling. Do with him as you wish." That sexpot of a voice softly faded away as Lelith stepped through the doors at the back of the bridge - it was just him, and this woman's daughter. The thoughts of what she would likely do to him were clearly on his mind - he wasn't a slave to anyone... which would mean death.

Aiming his pistols at the woman who now rushed towards him, he gasped as she inhumanly dodged the volley of shells sent towards her. As she moved to slash at him, her falchion nicked his carapace armor, the minor impact enough to send him flying onto a console, Reri's impaler plunging straight through it as he rolled away, avoiding the impact. There was almost an audible scream from it as the vessel's spirits cried out in undesired pain - something undesirable had been activated. Alarms began to go off as yellow lights flashed through the bridge. Distracted as she was by the volley of sound and lights, an effect of her half-Eldar physiology, Reri was stunned for naught but a moment, recovering fast enough to spy the millennial as he tried his best to climb back into the pod before All hell broke loose. But she wanted him alive - he was useless to her of no spark of life remained within him. Placing her weapons over her back in a swift motion, she grabbed his legs, tugging downward with all her Eldar might in an attempt to stop him from escaping.

He clawed, reaching higher up even as he felt scalpel-like nails clawing at his carapace armor, trying to find a weakness in the plates that could be mercilessly exploited... "Get down here, you pathetic mon'keigh." Did she really just call him a primate? He responded to the demeaning insult as best he could, raising a foot and forcing his boot into her face, finally letting him escape enough of her grasp to activate the Dreadclaw. The pod's rockets powered up as he secured himself inside... but he wouldn't be the only one to find himself getting off the Wraithship.

Reri lept with all her might towards the pod, skillfully slipping within as she gave a growl to the seated millennial. "This is it, human... You're mine." As she drew out her falchion, the bottom of the pod sealing, he tediously raised a foot into her midriff, knocking her back into another set of restraints that closed around her. She shook her head violently, trying to free herself, and had her hair been full of barbs like her mother's, she might've succeeded. But they weren't there - and all she could do was glower with unfettered rage as the pod escaped the wraithship's hull. The jarring caused both of them to drop their weapons on the pod's floor - a compartment received their arms before closing up. It was going to be a matter of who got rearmed first, and whose found themselves to be the unlucky one.

But things got worse. One of the engines had been damaged, causing the pod to spiral out of control towards the planet below. In a way, this was good - the wraithship disappeared into a Webway portal shortly after that, keeping him from being stuck on board a ship of flesh-tearing witch-whore space-elves, but then again, he was trapped with one.

 _++Woof! Woof! Woof woof woof. Woof woof woof woof woof: 5 woof++_

The exterior of the pod slowly began to heat up as it fell towards the planet below, and while the millennial was unsure as to whether or not he would survive impact, or even the encounter with the wych for that matter, he knew at least one thing.

This was gonna be one hell of a ride.


	7. Chapter 9

_Descending from Orbit, Alpha Primus, 2 858.999.M41_

Spiraling... senselessly spiraling out of control... That was the situation for the millennial and Reri Hesperax right now. The Princess of Commorragh seemed more focused upon the uncontrollable twists and turns the Dreadclaw was making during its cyclonic descent than the fact that her prey was right across from her, frozen in a coalescent cocktail of fear and silent contemplation. Still the pod fell through the atmosphere, the exterior hull panels heating up immensely as they finally reached fifty thousand feet... then forty. The altitude continued to drop at a rapid pace.

 _++woof woof woof. woof woof woof woof++_

The pod seemed to shift and reorient, secondary thrusters firing as the Dreadclaw began to maintain a more stable altitude. Ten thousand feet... Then five, then twenty-five hundred. It was slowing down tremendously - but not to the degree that its occupants were getting crushed by the G-forces. A constant strain of nearly 9 Gs, though... His body felt practically like it was smothered by a giant lead weight, his skull feeling as though it would crack in half at any moment from the building pressure. Reri herself seemed none the worse for wear, though she too was pinned against her restraints.

 _++woof woof 30 woof++_

Their acceleration finally began to slow to a manageable speed as the Dreadclaw now floated a mere couple hundred feet above, well... He had no idea where the thing had landed. A new planet... it was something people from his day and age could only dream of. Even with the then-futuristic nuclear-based rockets providing constant acceleration, it would've taken decades to reach Alpha Centauri - or even Proxima Centauri, the closest of the stars in the system. With almost forty thousand years having passed, however, the journey had been refined to take mere minutes. No longer were sleeper ships or other non-faster-than-light travel considered the most viable form of transport.

 _++woof woof 3, 2, 1, woof woof++_

The crunch of land having been heard beneath the base of the Dreadclaw, he weakly moved to raise his restraints. Reri seemed to be having even more trouble with her own - well, she was less a warrior and more a rogue, after all. They were focused on not being hit and going with the flow. When that was interrupted, and they had no choice but to deal with a task requiring brute force... Well, they were somewhat ineffective. He raised a foot, holding her against the wall with his weight as he leaned back, grabbing a naval pistol from the now open compartment and aiming it at her face as she tried to lean forward.

"No." He cocked his head a bit to one side. "You elf types are always ancient stuck-up bitches. News flash - I'm older than you are. I was around when your leader was still shitting her diapers - hell, maybe even before she was born. Now, you've proven to be one pesky bitch, but since we're stuck together, I'm going to make this simple." He moved the pistol closer towards her face. "Either you cut the bullshit, start treating me like a fucking normal person, and we work together to survive before we can get back to civilization... Or I kill you. I might even see how elf ears taste after being deep-fried."

She gave a sick smile as she eyed him. "Go fuck yourself, mon'keigh." His response was to merely press the tip of his gun's barrel between her eyes. For a moment, he remained frozen, eyes solely glued to the trigger as he rested his finger on it. What an easy thing it would be... to move his index digit back a few millimeters and send a high-caliber round hurling through her skull, coating the walls of the drop pod with her barbaric alien blood.

And yet... There was still a part of him in the grim darkness of the galaxy that told him to be the better person. She was helpless, so far as it mattered - unarmed, and not going anywhere at the moment. Even if she did manage to escape, it was on a world full of humans - she was bound to be caught eventually. The odds were in his favor, though he gained nothing from killing her.

The longer he stared, the more his eyes moved to lock with her own - and while he was no psyker, even he could see the smallest sliver of fear in her eyes. Perhaps she recognized it - either way, they closed, expecting him to carry through with his bloodthirsty threat.

Then the feeling of the cool metal in-between her eyes vanished. As she opened them, he switched the weapon back to safety, tossing it back into the pile. "Shut the weapons compartment and don't re-open it until I reopen it with my own voice." The Dreadclaw's console gave an affirmative _++woof++_ as it resealed - the weapons of both sentients now locked away, something not to be factored into the equation anymore.

Lowering his foot from the little armor of the wychsuit she wore, he stepped back, eyebrow raised. "You remind me of a character I once saw in a video game... Tallis, her name was. Her outfit looked similar to your own, though she wasn't a space elf..." The Dark Eldar simply showed a modicum of disgust as she slowly began to raise up the restraints, standing up before keeling forward from residual weakness. His inner gentleman brought to the surface, the millennial placed an arm under her shoulder to help stabilize her before she recovered, pushing him away as the walls of the drop pod fell to reveal the location they had landed in.

The Dreadclaw was a bit cockeyed, a weak crater in unevenly wooded territory. The 'clearing' they were in was at the edge of a forested area, right next to a river. From their position they could see the tip of a nearby city's spires well off in the distance - as well as smoke coming up from the lifeless remains of the crashed wraithship within the woods. It was only inevitable that Imperial forces would soon come to both claim the wreckage and rescue him.

But there were bigger things to worry about. A shot rang out - the sound of an extremely high-caliber weapon's round hitting the ground and detonating. The millennial jumped on top of Reri, attempting to shield her from the blast as his armor was hit by a bit of shrapnel kicked up from the three-quarter inch shell's impact with the ground nearby. Out from behind a thick bush came a man seven feet tall, shrouded in a white cloak with a pair of pistols in his hands - both of which for the moment limply rested by his sides.

"You are not an Imperial... Yet you come wearing naval insignia on board an ancient drop pod."

"Um... Nope, definitely not a guardsman. Just a blast from the past trying to figure out what the hell happened to humanity." He turned to stare at Reri, ensuring she went nowhere. "And picking up some interesting people along the way." Underneath the cloak, he could see a suit of armor, crowned with the outline of a bleached skeleton - thankfully not real, though still rather macabre. "Who're you? Some assassin?"

He cracked no smile, gave not the slightest glint of emotion as he finally holstered both of his weapons. Only then did the millennial notice the busted sword behind his back. "I am called Cypher by your Imperium. I seek absolution for my brothers led astray." He noticed the interest in the sword and carefully, almost reverently removed it from behind the back of his power armor. The sword was... well, it looked like it was in pretty shitty shape. A good half the blade had broken off, and whatever remained was heavily pitted and nicked with rust. Only the jeweled, gold-encrusted handle seemed to be untouched by whatever poor fate had beset the weapon - a weapon easily the size of a claymore when complete. Even now he had no idea if he could even hold the weapon, assuming the enigmatic man's angst could be dealt with.

"So, why are you here?"

Cypher turned away from the human, stepping further into the forest as he sheathed the damaged blade, the millennial and the lesser Hesperax following him. The latter was certainly intrigued by the valuable relic - something for her mother's museums, perhaps. "I have discovered an ancient device within the ruins of an early human settlement, now long devoured by the jungle. This device will be the key to reforging the Lion Sword and obtaining absolution for the sins of the Fallen."

He froze for a moment. There was only one group he knew of that were referred to as Fallen. Watchers. The Sons of God. "Um... Wait. So you're a fallen angel?"

Cypher paused, turning the plasma pistol towards the millennial and aiming it at him, the weapon charging up. "How do you know what those are?"

"Um... Well, according to my time, God created angels, and some rebelled against him, led by Lucifer. These fallen angels were exiled to Earth, where they supposedly still remain."

Cypher looked at his weapon, turning it and discharging it at a nearby tree, the plasma blast vaporizing the wood and causing it to collapse to the side. "My apologies. I assumed you to be an agent of my former legion, sent to hunt me down for transport to the Rock once again."

"No... I have no idea what these, um... Angels are, I guess that's what they're called?"

"Dark Angels." The ancient Space Marine corrected him. "Dark Angels." The three followed the path brazed by Cypher through the woods countless times, coming upon what had clearly been a clearing at some time. Stones that had once been a solid road of concrete now lay split by the landscape, imbedded within the dirt in various crumbling patterns. All that remained of most buildings were the vaguely rectangular ruins of their ruined foundations, small corroded support beams jutting up from where the buildings had been fabricated. What had been the road seemed to lead back to a cavern, artificially supported with fossilized timbers.

Further back in the cave was a campsite - an old metal tube sufficed as a ventilation shaft for Cypher's fire, over which the fleshless carcass of a chicken-like animal was slowly roasting. Assumedly, he had recently eaten. In the back of the mine was another short tunnel leading to what had at one point clearly been a storage room - a preserved door sealed the contents inside. As the millennial opened it, he couldn't believe his eyes.

"No way... it's a power hammer."

More precisely, it was a trip hammer - raised by a series of cogs and gears, an obscenely heavy hammerhead, looking like it weighed almost a hundred pounds, was reclined, ready to strike anything placed upon the anvil beneath it. Even Reri found it somewhat intimidating. The hammer in question was alone... but how was he going to heat the steel in the blade up? That was assuming it actually was steel, and wasn't a more exotic metal. He looked around the room, trying to find something - anything - that could prove useful.

There was a small wooden trapdoor located in the back corner of the room. Motioning for Reri to help him out, the two lifted the heavy chunk of wood long hidden under the dirt and dust of the mine. At the bottom were two small canisters with writing on them. The writing was unfamiliar - in damaged Cyrillic characters - but the symbol meant only one thing.

"Jet fuel?"

He motioned for Cypher to help pull the canisters out of their niche. "You know what this is?"

"Of course. I've been around planes enough to know this stuff is jet fuel. No idea what it's doing out here, but if we ignite it in a contained area, the burn temperature should be hot enough to ignite the steel - unless we choose to directly apply it to the blade. Hell if I know what'll happen if we do that."

That was all the input Cypher needed. A gloved finger punctured one of the canisters, the well-preserved fuel being dipped in by both scarred pieces of the blade of Lion El'Jonson. An low-power shot from the plasma pistol ignited the liquid, which began to burn white-hot - and as the steel reached the perfect temperature to be made malleable, Cypher motioned for the two lesser sentients to crank the hammer as he began to reforge the old weapon. His technique was surprising - he ran the length of the burning blade down the hammer's mighty impacts, and when the blade grew too flat at the hilt, he flexed it on the setup's ancient anvil, folding the loose metal inward and onto the blade. This continued again and again until there was no more pitting, no more damage... No more trace of its ruined form. The weapon was slowly raised from its forging place once the work was complete to the Fallen Angel's exacting standards. He had spent ten millennia looking for the most sacred of ancient auto-forges to recreate the blade upon - and a forge on the First World, the initial step by mankind into the forays of the galaxy, was the most appropriate of locations. Slowly, he held the blade before him, mumbling a prayer as the weapon cooled - by all means, it was a right and proper sword, though it still would need to have its edges ground down to a proper sharpness in order to function as a weapon.

But did it truly need sharpening? The Astartes pressed a gem on the hilt of the weapon, and the blade, still white-hot, found itself coated with a bizarre energy of cool blue coloration. It almost was lightsaber-like - and could likely cut through anyone that got in its way. Fortunately for the other two, however, he deactivated whatever power source had caused such an action - though the cooled weapon's blade was now coated with an eerie blued sheen. But he did not hold onto it - such was the strange enigma of Cypher himself. The Fallen Angel leaned the blade against the wall of the cave, staring at the millennial with a glance of strange sincerity before turning away, stepping towards the entrance of the mine.

"I know the path laid out for you. It is a road fraught with horror, one few if any have survived. And yet you come from a time and place where His vision was understood, before Chaos perverted His wisdom and corrupted His teachings. You will find the penance for us that I shall never achieve." He lowered his head in contemplation. "Give this weapon to Him on our behalf. Though some have fallen into eternal damnation, we saw the light. Must we be condemned for circumstance? Our brothers despise us, when they fail to realize that deception has played a role in everything that has ever come to pass to our brotherhood. Ally against ally. Brother against brother. Through your delivery, we may find His forgiveness." He turned his head back towards the archaic Terran. "One day, you will have my thanks. But that time is not now."

Before the millennial knew what to say in response, he was gone. It was like he hadn't even been there, though the monstrous blade was still there, leaning against the wall.

Perhaps it truly was the end of days, and he had been given a role to fill. Or perhaps it was all a coalescence of coincidence that artificed this strange situation.

"It's beautiful." Reri perked up. "You know... Maybe I shouldn't have been so directly abrasive in... _acquiring your services_. I am Reri Hesperax, Princess of Commorragh. What is your name?"

Grasping the sword and slowly but surely hefting it above the ground in both his hands - a difficult task, as it wasn't like he'd held a claymore before - he rested it on the ground in front of him, arms stretched as palms stayed upon the pommel. Now was the time where whoever he had been before the accident was washed away. It was time for him to be reforged, like the blade he now wielded - a new man for a new age.

"Just call me the millennial."


	8. Chapter 10

_Crash-Landed Dreadclaw Drop Pod, Alpha Primus, 6 859.999.M41_

And lo, the first signs of rescue arrived to showcase themselves. Flying over the site of the Dreadclaw, which both Reri and the millennial himself were standing just outside of, was a Lightning fighter craft, which banked over their location a couple of times before straight-up disappearing. In its place was the loud rumble of the two jets of a Valkyrie gunship, which slowly descended in the clearing. The ancient human was leaning on the sword Cypher had given him, a prized relic of the Dark Angels chapter that, unknown to him, made him a tremendous target. Out from the back of the gunship, whose pilot looked contentiously over the scene before him, strode a squad of men nine feet tall, muscular to an almost maddening extent, with rather bestial facial features. He didn't know it, but this was his first encounter with the abhumans known as Ogryn.

The two looked at the group, which were toting what had to be twenty millimeter autocannon... On their backs. He wasn't quite sure how to put it, though they seemed rather worse for wear as a whole, equipment dinged and dented in every corner. One of the men wore a helmet - apparently identifying him as the leader of the group. Stepping forward, he halfheartedly raised a hand, stopping the other Ogryn from following his every move as he stepped in front of the human and the Dark Eldar. "Wut she doin 'ere?"

"She's my prisoner..." He replied nonchalantly, figuring that he was big and stupid. "My personal prisoner. In fact," he turned back to look at Reri, a smirk on his face as the shock on her own seemed to grow a bit more, "I might even interrogate her in naught but a couple of hours. But to do that, I'll need to get back to my ship... Is that battleship okay?"

"Yea... Dat weird lay-dee's alright." He replied in very broken Low Gothic. "She wan' to say you did gud job. Gav' ya one o' dem screenie thingies. It gonna be 'ere in... How man' mins are in a hur?"

"Um..." He was at a loss for words. "Sixty."

"Rite den, it gon' be 'ere in bout feev mins." Five minutes? Seemed like a reasonable enough time period, all things considered. But there was this Dreadclaw...

"What did they say they would do about the drop pod we came here in?"

"Dat Mechawuzzit lay-dee say they ar' gon' take it to Mars for 'xaminin. Dey gon' mak it nice, maybe nee-ew shooty stuf."

He turned back, confused as to what sort of fate would befall the drop pod. "Is getting sent back to the Mechanicus for overhaul alright with you?"

++woof woof++

One of the doors opened and closed in what he assumed could best be described as an affirmative. "Alright then... And it seems our ride's arrived, how about that... Nice meeting you, mister... What was your name?"

"Me name iz Derm. Derm Defra."

"Whew." He wiped his brow in mock relief. "Thank God it's not Derp. That would make this even weirder."

"DAS RITE!" The Ogryn raised his giant-ass autocannon up, pointing it towards the sky as the rest of his squad seemed to get riled up. "PRAYZ DA EMPRAH! HE DA BEST!" The group of rowdy, relatively stupid troops started to fire their autocannons in the air at absolutely nothing, just for the sheer fun of it, and both the lesser Hesperax and the millennial quickly rushed to get into the Arvus Lighter a fast as they could, being sure to get their weapons out of the Dreadclaw. While there, he noticed that a new cogitator had been installed in the cargo bay - this cogitator had Windows-type operating system on it, but most notable was that it had the location of every single Imperial planet on it, along with their precise locations and estimated travel times. Even the individual Segmentums were labeled... It was quite nice. Resting the Lion Sword on a row of seats, he kept a naval pistol in his hand, eying around before finding the power maul in question.

"Thank the Emperor you sur- WHAT THE HELL IS SHE DOING HERE!?" The naval officer piloting the Arvus Lighter raised his pistol at Reri before the millennial stepped between the two.

"Woah woah woah woah woah. Calm the fuck down, son." He grabbed the naval officer's pistol, forcing it to aim towards the deck. "She's my prisoner. Lelith Hesperax's kid. Gonna keep her around for prestige. Don't worry. She doesn't bite."

"This is... This is heresy!" His face turned to one of both rage and fear. "Consorting with xenos... How dare you defile the Emperor's sacred commandments!"

Grabbing the seated naval officer by the shoulder, the millennial moved forward, looking him square in the eye. "She. Is. My. Prisoner. Call me a heretic again. I DOUBLE DARE YOU, MOTHERFUCKER! CALL ME A HERETIC ONE MORE GODDAMN TIME!" The spittle from his enraged voice was clearly visible on the officer's face. "I didn't disable two fucking enemy spaceships and find this important-ass Angel sword just so some pathetic, cowardly motherfucker, who wanted to hide in MY ship instead of going balls-deep into the action, can call ME a heretic. DO YOU FEEL ME?"

"Ye... Yes sir."

"GOOD! NOW GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY SHIP!" Pulling the naval officer out of the pilot's seat, he sat down just as Reri used the man's imbalance to kick him in the gut, sending him tumbling head over heels down the back ramp as he fell out of the slowly ascending ship. Of course, it wasn't like it was a lethal fall... The small cargo hauler was barely even a foot or two off the ground when he tumbled onto the grass. As the ramp ascended, he could only raise his head in disbelief as the spacecraft slowly ascended some more before taking off.

Little did he know that he wasn't the only one watching.

* * *

 _Alpha Centauri System, 3 860.999.M41_

"So, where were we?" The millennial turned around in his chair, smiling as he eyed over the Dark Eldar currently cross-legged as she eyed the Lion Sword.

"Age, if I recall..." She smiled, running her hand over the gilded hilt of the ancient weapon. "I'm rather young by our race's standards. Just a mere two hundred years of age."

His jaw dropped. "Two... Um, how old is your mother?"

"Truthfully, I'm hardly sure myself." She shrugged. "All I know is that she and Vect have been good friends for a long while. She was already a powerful succubus when he took charge of Commorragh, which makes her at least ten millennia old."

He paused in shock for a bit before a grin slowly grew on his face. "Well... At least I have you both covered there. I was put on ice a good thirty-eight thousand years ago. Makes for one hell of a bunch of culture shock." Now it was her term to look surprised.

"Thirty-eight thousand years... That's quite remarkable, considering that you were put into stasis during the primitive era of the mon'keighs... But what do you mean 'on ice?' I've never heard of that method of stasis being used before..."

"Well..."

* * *

 _Drunken Party, Earth, 0 359.019.M3_

"So, any job offers yet?"

"Nothing much so far," the college graduate soon to be known as the millennial responded, drinking a glass of fine Egyptian beer. "I've sent a resume off to General Dynamics. Maybe they need someone for some new ground shit."

"You think they'll hire you on?"

"No idea," he responded. "Least I can do is ask. How bout you, Ollie?"

On the far side of the room, gazing intently at a painting on the wall, was Ollie Persson. He was of Germanic-Turkish descent, and while his dad was away on business, he was more than kind enough to give the group of freshly graduated college kids a sendoff before they went their separate ways in the world. Being a collector of historical relics and recipes, he instructed the workers at his mansion to prepare a party for Ollie and his friends, as he was busy in Japan at a meeting of geneticists looking to catalog new samples of the human genome. The party of course brought out plenty old relics - the entire weekend was theirs, after all, and there was hardly any reason not to have fun. All the chairs they sat in were relics hundreds of years old, perfectly preserved in the finest condition.

"Not sure. I think I'll look around with Mitsubishi. I might even become a voice actor." His voice seamlessly transitioned to that of a Brit before going back.

"Bullshit, you're just saying that because you're dad's there."

"Ease off him, Thompson," the millennial played mediator. "We're here to have a good time, alright? A toast. To the baddest group of braniac motherfuckers who ever lived." The group yelled an applause before clinking glasses together. "So, what cars your dad got in his garage, Ollie?"

"The '63 Corvette C2 with automatic transmission sounds like a good vehicle to me." He knew exactly what they were going to do - his father had insurance, so no issues, but drunk driving... Someone could get killed.

And indeed someone did. Thompson had been careless, to say the least - when backing the car out, he accidentally pressed the gas pedal instead of the clutch, sending the car hurtling down the driveway at twenty miles an hour straight at the millennial. They had rushed him to the hospital and pronounced him dead at the scene - but instead of embalming him, he was taken to Japan and entombed within a Honda cryonics facility. Who put up the money for his seemingly eternal dip in liquid nitrogen, no one knew - but there was an obvious guess, considering the rare friendship he and Ollie had shared.

How curious indeed.

* * *

 _Space, Alpha Centauri System, 3 859.999.M41_

"And that's how I ended up frozen, apparently. Primitive tech, but you can't argue with the results. They had a couple of machines running to keep me frozen all that time. The Japanese deserve some credit... Their shit's built to last."

She gave a blank stare, understanding almost none of what he had said. "You amuse me, mon'keigh."

"See, you're wrong there." Shaking his head. "We're hominids. Not monkeys. They're a completely different type of primate according to the scientific classification of things."

"No no, it's just something we often call lesser evolved species like you humans. In especially rare cases, we might even call you a double mon'keigh. Maybe those giant humans on the planet below."

"Heh... It's almost cute." A ring on the ship's cogitator ceased their conversation for the time being.

 _++Message coming through. Identity of sender: Classified++_

The holographic imagery popped up, showcasing a man in power armor, with the same sigils on his plate that Edmarius had worn on her own. He looked... familiar, for some reason. Very familiar.

"Apologies for the interruption. I am Inquisitorial Representative Badasious Acometh, of the Ordo Malleus. You must be the ancient human I've heard about. I currently await you on board the _Duke Helbrecht_ , having come in on board a battle barge I co-opted from a rather respectful Space Marine chapter. We'll be returning to a location in the Sol system - more will be told to you once you're here. I look forward to meeting you soon."

The projected image disappeared. Apparently he couldn't talk back with how holography worked. Then again, he probably should've been glad that that sort of thing worked overall.

"Alright... I suppose we'll head to the _Duke_ ASAP then. And if anyone asks, you're my prisoner, and I'll liquify your brain with my special mind-gun if you try to get away or cause trouble. Just don't want some trigger-happy sap like Geordi LaFuckbrains back there, if you know what I'm saying."

"Whatever you say..." She responded properly, but as he turned around, he saw a dagger now embedded in the console next to him.

"...Mon'keigh."


	9. Chapter 11

_Apocalypse-class Battleship Duke Helbrecht, Alpha Centauri, 2 862.999.M41_

No one had contested the millennial's landing. No one had contested as he brought the Dark Eldar with him at gunpoint, a naval pistol placed to her spine, ready to be fired if she so much as twitched. To everyone else, she was nothing but a prize, a trophy acquired as a spoil of war. What he did with her was his own business. Yet the two of them knew the truth - despite the... radical hatred for aliens that the Imperium had, and the Dark Eldar tendency to lust for ever more extreme and maddening forms of pleasure, the two had hit off an intriguing relationship. Individuals from his era would've called it a friendship. They might've even said that "love can bloom" when it came to those two.

But that was a different era - one of rationality, not paranoia. Such was the reason for deception as he stepped towards the chamber the Inquisitorial Representative was in. Handcuffs would've worked better, had he a pair, but she might've enjoyed it for all he knew. And lo, he stepped forward, into the presence of the Inquisitor. The grey-armored Space Marines looked upon him with cold and soulless lenses, their Aegis Armored frames eying him with contempt for bringing a xeno with him.

But what a man the Inquisitor was. A scar ran across one of his eyes, covered by an eyepatch. He wore a suit of black power armor with golden gilding, and his hair had greyed - as had his beard. The symbol of the Inquisition - a most recognizable sight - was plastered directly on the chest of his armor, cast in solid gold. The emblem alone would've been worth a fortune in his day and age, considering the standard prices for gold back then. Apparently those prices had decreased, considering the amount of gold and silver he'd seen around everything.

"So you are the human preserved for all this time." Badasious nodded, motioning as a pair of Grey Knights came, grasping Reri and moving to take her away.

"What the hell are you doing with _my_ prisoner?"

"She will be returned to you unharmed." He smiled. "I assure you. For now, let me showcase more to you of the things the Inquisition finds to be available for one of your widespread knowledge." Turning to a cogitator, he typed in a console command - apparently there were MS-DOS systems as well - and activated a holographic representation of the Inquisitorial sigil.

"The Inquisition comprises an overall disorganized group. There are a wide variety of different Ordos - organizations dedicated to specific goals. I am a part of - or rather, I declare myself a part of the Ordo Malleus. We specifically fight against Chaos in all of its many forms. The other two chief Ordos are the Ordo Hereticus, which combats heresy, and the Ordo Xenos, which combats, as you would expect, xenos." He paused, the holographic representations of three people - two Space Marines and one woman - forming in front of them both.

"Each Ordos has a Chamber Militant - a standing force of soldiers to rely upon consistently. While the Ordo Xenos relies consistently upon the Deathwatch, and the Ordo Hereticus relies on the sparse support of the Adepta Sororitas, we in the Ordo Malleus rely upon Grey Knights. I know this is your first experience with any group of Astartes, so please, don't be alarmed. They have been sanctified beyond measure, impervious to daemonic corruption, some of the most powerful psykers in the Imperium."

"Well, um..." He looked over at the nearest Grey Knight. "Not exactly my _first_ experience with them, but I'm clueless as all hell about them. How are they made? Where did their armor come from?"

"One question at a time, please..." Badasious raised a hand. "Space Marines are created through a complex mixture of chemical manipulation, implantation of nineteen genetically modified organs, hypnotherapy, and mental training to become the super-soldiers of the Imperium, a step above lowly Imperial Guardsman. The Grey Knights in particular are the most well-tested: having all undergone the six hundred sixty-six Rituals of Detestation to prove their impermeability to the Warp. To reinforce this protection, all of them wear Aegis Armor - specially crafted power armor reinforced with hexagrammic wards to further protect against daemons."

"As to where the armor came from - according to our historical records, the initial type of armor, the "Thunder Armor," found use with the early Astartes and the Thunder Warriors during the Unification Wars. Seven more successive variants of the armor were made, following the same base layout with few differences. There are of course specialist suits - Centurion armor and Tactical Dreadnought armor, to name a few, but the eight are the main suit types commonly recognized. They are the most advanced suits of powered battle armor made by mankind."

"So basically, they just took TALOS and ran with it, I guess..." Noticing that the Inquisitor didn't get the reference, he elaborated. "In my day, the country I lived in, the United States of America, was just starting to deploy power armor en masse to all its troops. The armor was called TALOS armor. I forgot what it stood for, but it looked sort of like a powered version of the carapace armor those guardsmen and naval officers wear. Something this bulky, though... I would've thought miniaturized fusion generators would've been built by now. They look like they're powered by two-stroke diesels."

"Thunder Armor was powered by promethium. All suits of Space Marine armor produced after that initial version have been fitted with fusion generators." Badasious quipped.

"Alright... Well, what do you intend to do? Toss me in harm's way? Kill me for not fitting into the idyllic view everyone seems to have about how mankind should go? Eat a lovely afternoon tea?" Considering he'd fought space-elves, helped forge a claymore, and almost got his face eaten by a daemon, he wasn't entirely sure as to how what he was doing could possibly get more dangerous and life-threatening.

"We'll be traveling to Titan in order to get you suited up with the best gear the Grey Knights have to offer. As for your mission..." He paused to type more information into the DOSbox. "A Space Hulk named the _Nihilus Rex_ has entered the Angrimar system, home of the Angry Marines. We belie..."

"What the fuck... Are you shitting me right now? Angry Marines? Who the fuck came up with the name for those guys? Ragemarines? Rampantmarines? But no. Fucking Angry Marines? Really?"

The Inquisitor Lord ignored the outburst, continuing. "We believe that a Chaos Champion of the Black Legion has entrenched his forces in the Space Hulk in order to complete a pernicious ritual required to summon a Greater Daemon. We must kill the Champion and purge the Space Hulk of any and all forces of Chaos before the Adeptus Ministorum sends a team to purify the vessel for future dismemberment by the Mechanicus."

"C-C-C-Chaos Champion?" He gulped, taking one step back.

"Yes... A Chaos-worshipping Space Marine that has devoted himself so fully to those abominable deities that they have granted him their favor. We have no knowledge as to which of the Chaos Gods he worships - only that he is likely going to begin a ritual in order to start a daemonic assault on Angrimar. Considering the proven effectiveness of the Angry Marines in combat, the loss of their recruiting world - their home - would be devastating. Their numbers would drastically decrease, and they might even be forced to disband due to lack of recruits in a mere few centuries."

"Well fuck me. How do you expect me, some rinky-dinky human, to stand up against an unholy super-soldier wearing a tank?" He did raise a fair point. He had as much chance of stopping this Chaos Champion in one-on-one combat as Ollanius Pius did killing Horus with his lasrifle.

"That is up to you to decide." Badasious nodded. "I will be overseeing your activities, and you will be operating with my power." He smiled, handing the young man a small jeweled box. "Go ahead. Open it. Consider it my gift to you, in order to assist you with the subjugation of the Space Hulk for the Emperor."

The millennial raised an eyebrow, slowly opening the box with the attached key. As the small lock clicked its way to freedom, he gasped - it was a miniaturized emblem, identical to that on the armor of Badasious himself. "This is an Inquisitorial Rosette, keyed to your DNA in order to verify that only you are able to wield the authority behind it."

"Okay... What authority? It looks like a necklace to me."

"With this Rosette, you wield the entirety of the power of the Imperial Inquisition. You may conscript anyone to your service, from the lowliest of farmers to admirals and planetary governors themselves."

"So I can conscript you?"

"No, that's not how it works."

"But you said..."

"I know what I said. It doesn't apply to the High Lords of Terra. Now, we will quickly make a warp jump to Titan, where you can best be equipped for action."

"Alrighty..." He placed the rosette around his neck - this would certainly prove useful.

Then again, maybe it would bring simply more trouble.

* * *

 _Titan, Sol System, 1 863.999.M41_

The first thing he did with the the power of his rosette was to order the release of Reri Hesperax into his custody. She found it surprising that he would do such a thing for her as the ship flowed through the Warp, on its way to Saturn's moon. As the two stepped away, returning to the Arvus Lighter they had landed in. Through use of the rosette, he was able to read more information on some of the notable Inquisitors still alive as of the moment he was in - one caught his eye: a Fyodor Karamazov. Apparently this guy was batshit insane, and thought everyone was guilty. The dude evidently murdered a guy who saved a planet from a madman, and to top it off, he thought that heresy showing up in the guy's followers vindicated him. Considering that there wasn't a place in the entirety of the Imperium that was heresy-free, this was hardly evidence proving Karamazov's bullshit claims of him being a false prophet and a heretic.

Still, those thoughts were vacated as he and Reri stepped out onto the surface of the moon that circled about the ringed gas giant. Saturn had always been a beautiful planet, and as the Arvus Lighter slowly descended towards the basalt that comprised the fortress-monastery of the Grey Knights, he gave a soft sigh, looking back at his small collection. A naval pistol, a power maul, the Lion Sword(which he still could barely lift)... He wondered what he would end up finding in the armory of the Grey Knights themselves. If they were as elite as Badasious implied, there had to be plenty of good stuff for her to use.

"Well... How does it feel?" Reri perked up, looking at him as he fingered the rosette around his neck.

"How does what feel?"

"Oh, you know... Suddenly wielding an almost maddening amount of power. You have the entire Imperium under your thumb. Do you intend to use all that effort in order to run wild and reshape this festering, rotting corpse of a galactic power into something you deem worthwhile?"

Standing up, he stepped over to the Dark Eldar princess before sitting down next to her. "Hardly. I doubt the Imperium could even survive in such a state - such is the mindset of madmen." A hand rested on her shoulder, finding itself gently running over the insides of her relatively large ear. She gave a quiet coo, surprisingly enjoying the sensation as he brought his other free hand to her other ear. A little massage for the brain, so it seemed... and yet, she hadn't told him about the other effects of being without a soul stone for protection.

Soon, her need for a spirit would reach a climax.


	10. Chapter 12

_Grey Knights Fortress-Monastery on Titan, Sol System, 1 863.999.M41_

"Wow."

That was all that could be said by the millennial as he gazed out over the Grey Knights' armory. The rather plain Space Marines has a more than eclectic cocktail of weapons, armor, and equipment - but he saw an issue. Most if not all of what these super-soldiers had to offer was too large and clunky for him to handle. "It's impressive, but well... I don't know if I can handle it."

"Don't think the only things we have are for Astartes." One of the Space Marines wearing a backpack covered in mechanical arms stepped forward. "Techmarine Denarius. We have suits of power armor designed for the wear of normal men - such should allow you to carry the weapons we offer. Even the Adepta Sororitas are able to carry bolter and chainsword with the assistance of their armor."

"And I assume this isn't gonna be something hard to do? You know, learn how to use the armor, that is."

"I doubt such will be an issue." He smiled, despite half his face being replaced with mechanical augments. "Powered armor more often than not is capable of responding to human stimuli without risk of mechanical overcompensation." The human nodded - he wished that someone like Troy Hurtubise was still alive to explain what the hell he was all about. Unfortunately he wasn't, and as such, he had to browse through the sets of armor before finding a suit that looked like it would fit him. Eventually, he found a human-sized one, whose torso plate was covered with skulls, shoulder pauldrons showcasing an Inquisition emblem overlaying a Grey Knight one.

"Yes, this will do nicely."

"You may wish to speak to the Supreme Grand Master about that... the suit is a relic to the Grey Knights." Of course, there was only one person who held that rank - an individual by the name of Kaldor Draigo, who had survived an extended tenure in the Warp and who was preparing to get revenge on a daemon. Understandable, seeing as Chaos seemed to consist of nothing but cocks.

"Look. This rosette thing entitles me to use whatever I desire for the good of the Imperium. It's just sitting here, no one else is gonna use it seeing as a Space Marine would destroy that armor trying to put it on."

"...very well, if you insist. The blame be on your head if the armor is destroyed." The Astartes sighed, reluctantly removing the armor from its case.

"What's so special about it? Looks pretty standard, all things considered."

"The armor once belonged to an Inquisitor who greatly cleaved to the Grey Knights as a source of camaraderie - he assisted us greatly many millennia ago. This suit of artificer armor, Ignatus pattern, was commissioned for him to wear as he fought by our side. He found himself robbed of life after having held a position to save the life of the previous Supreme Grand Master, Geronitan, from a horde of daemons summoned by a Black Legion sorcerer. Out of respect for him, this relic of his dedication to the Emperor's will, laying down his life for the greater of His servants, we have preserved his armor."

"Alright... Wel, it's mine now. What else we got..."

The Techmarine thought for a moment before an idea lit up. "I would be willing to quickly give your power maul the onceover, in order to give it the enhanced quality of a master craftsman's touch. It will take a mere couple of hours. Might I suggest that you acquire a ranged weapon in the meantime? Perhaps a bolter?"

"Well..." The millennial considered what weapons had existed back in his day. "What do you have that goes boom?"

"A variety of grenade types..." Denarius opened up a shelf to showcase the grenades within, each compartment filled with a different type of thrown ordnance. Perhaps there would be one to his liking.

"Krak grenades, frag grenades... Rad grenades? Handheld mini-nukes? Fuck yeah!" He grabbed five of them, stuffing them into the pockets of the Administorum robe he still wore. He would make sure they were secured to the armor when he finally went out to go and engage these Chaos Space Marines. And yet, there was still need for a weapon... Something that could cause more than a proportional amount of damage to his size. Searching through the racks, he found a weapon that looked, well... surprisingly small for something a Grey Knight would use. Picking it up, he turned to Denarius. "What's this?"

"That is a Volkite Serpenta. It doesn't work, so please don't..."

"Wait a minute..." He looked the pistol over - it weighed a good seven and a half pounds, almost three times as much as a Colt 1911. The magazine at the bottom was, well... He didn't even know what it was for. But it seemed wrong... "This is backwards." Removing the magazine from the well, he turned it around and jammed it in the bottom of the weapon as far as it could go, a light blinking on one side of the exotic gun. "Did you ever consider perhaps checking to make sure the magazine was in the right way?"

"No... The weapon was completely disassembled by a tech-priest from Mars who could not find the problem. It was placed here in the armory millennia ago." The trained Astartes knew how to maintain the chapter's weaponry - but the thing was, with regards to certain parts, it was hard to determine what way they went in. Regarding the Serpenta's power pack, however... Well, it was just a hunch. It did look like it could go in either way.

The millennial sighed, but soon turned away, holding the massive pistol in his hand. "Yes... This'll do nicely." Pivoting back on his heels, he raised an eyebrow. "Alright... Where do I get suited up?"

* * *

 _In vicinity of Space Hulk Nihilus Rex, Angrimar, 2 865.999.M41_

And lo, it was time. The Grey Knights Strike Cruiser _Malcador Ascendent_ arrived in the Angrimar system, meeting with the eccentric Chapter's newest battle barge, the _Fucked Your Bitch Twice_. They had a good sense of college humor, at least. The millennial now wore the suit of artificer armor,which felt surprisingly snug as he still flexed its individual fingers. At his right hip was the Volkite Serpenta, now a lot easier to handle thanks to the Ignatus pattern's powered exoskeleton. Around his waist were rad grenades, and at his left hip was the power maul, now master-crafted at the hands of the highly skilled Techmarine. Though it still appeared to be a rather standard, if not slightly oversized baton, it could deal even more damage now, thanks to fine-tuning of the power systems within - not to mention replacement of the maul's power source. The rosette in question was stored along with his robe, awaiting his return.

Standing next to the almost-warrior from another time was Reri Hesperax herself. Fully dressed(if you could call it that) in her wychsuit, the Impaler and Falchion she wielded were both primed for battle, much to the dismay of the Grey Knights who were accompanying them to the space hulk. She smiled, ready and primed for battle against the forces of Chaos. Perhaps their souls would be her next meal - being here in realspace for so long was giving Slaanesh more of her soul to devour, after all, and she needed to make up for that so the Thirst wouldn't overwhelm her.

Standing behind the two oddities were five fully equipped squads of Grey Knights - two Strike squads, two Purgation squads, and a Terminator squad. Leading the Grey Knight forces was Mithrac Tor, leader of the Grey Knights' 8th Brotherhood, where the squads were from. The goal was simple - they would take some boarding torpedoes over to the space hulk in question, then meet up with the 5th Company of the Angry Marines at the entry point before spreading throughout the wreck and purging it of all Chaos iconography. The remains of whatever starship this had once been would be sanctified and purged of any lingering Chaotic essence before being towed through the Warp to Mars, where the Adeptus Mechanicus would dismember it to accrue whatever technological secrets were hidden within.

Aboard the boarding vessels they went, flying across the entirety of space towards the massive collection of metal that had formed within the void. Chaos forces were inevitably on board, and this likely would be one of the hardest fights of his life. Perhaps he'd even die in the attempt... But if he did, who would save Reri from getting torn apart by the Grey Knights who would view her as nothing but a heretical xeno who needed to be purged?

Soon, the adamantium tips of the boarding torpedoes impaled themselves within the frame of the ancient mass of metal, folding outward to reveal a seemingly empty hall. The Grey Knights detected the foul presence of Chaos nearby, turning and preparing to engage with their specialized weaponry as the millennial raised the power maul, holding the Serpenta in his free hand as he traveled down the hallway. "This way, I assume?"

It was a one out of two shot, and he was correct - the feelings of Chaos were permeating throughout the entirety of the Hulk - this was Black Legion work, for the combined powers of all the Chaos Gods were spread vibrantly throughout the vessel.

It was his first encounter with Chaos Space Marines, and they hardly disappointed. The loud cries of Khornate Berserkers and their Possessed brethren lit up one end of the hallway as a massive, hulking figure with a pair of barbaric chainaxes pointed at the ancient human, power armor equipped. "I am Zurkhrin, Blessed Champion of Khorne! Your blood will pool at the feet of my master as I take your skull for His throne! BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!" His eyes malevolently shown, revealing his fanged maw as he screamed out his war cry, other Berserkers and Possessed emulating his actions and sending a roar of hatred throughout the wide hallway.

As a barbarian, he rushed forward - their leader had to take first blood of the enemy's leader as his own. The corrupted Terminator armor he wore protected his flesh from assault, and the Volkite Weapon could scarcely be used to stop him with a couple of shots let off before he cleaved the millennial in two. As he charged, though, a good twenty feet away, he tripped. One could mistake this for the blind providence of the Emperor, but from how hard Reri was panting, it was obvious that she had moved faster than one could see, forcing the Chaos Champion to his knees. And as he stood up, the once-frozen mon'keigh took advantage of the biggest flaw of anyone in the battle, whether traitor or loyalist.

He had no helmet.

The blast of energy from the relic-weapon touched the front of his head, and from there, it was all downhill for Zurkhrin. His flesh peeled away centimeter by centimeter, dissolved into a fine ash as his head completely crumbled into dust, a lifeless skull raised to stare at the man who had ended the World Eaters' existence before falling apart. Taking a playbook out of his reaction to Brother Maynard's servo-skull, he stepped forward with all his extra weight, the traitor's skull crushing under his foot. If he had been wearing a helmet... Well, maybe he wouldn't have been humiliated by a pathetic mortal.

Still, though, this did not stop the worshippers of the Blood God from their charge forward. The Grey Knights opened fire on the abominations, chainswords clattering against chainaxes as they fought tooth and nail against one another. The millennial and Reri fought as a team - functioning surprisingly well as a cumulative unit. Her Impaler's monomolecular edge forced its way through a Possessed Marine's throat, tearing his head from its body as her partner slammed his fully-energized power maul directly into the knight-like helmet of a Berserker, crumbling the ancient ceramite as his skull caved in before turning and discharging another Volkite blast right in the face of another Possessed.

The battle waged on, but the wards of the Grey Knights slowly prevailed. They held the line against the rush of insane bloodlusters, who merely engaged like an Ork mob, weapon's swinging in a feral display of rampant madness. Though they were winning, they had made no progress.

Until the battle cry chortled through the halls of the wreck, louder than even the cries of the Khornate traitors.

"ALWAYS ANGRY! ALL THE TIME!"

A rush of yellow-armored marines came from the far side, directly behind the Chaos horde. They wore power fists, and began to bludgeon their way through the horde of traitor wannabes. Soon the Grey Knights could actually move forward, the millennial and Reri taking this as an opportunity to move forward and watch the Angry Marines force the Khorne-worshippers back, soon ending them as they had nowhere else to go. The Sergeant in charge of the company of Angrimar's finest personally grabbed the last Beserker's head in his hands, crushing his skull in a single grasp before kicking the corpse down a shaft. "FUCK YEAH, NO ONE FUCKS AROUND WITH THE EMPEROR'S BADDEST MOTHERFUCKERS!"

"FUCKING RIGHT, SARGE!"

"SHIT, IT'S THE LITTLE FUCKING KILLING MACHINE HIMSELF!" The sergeant turned to the millennial, who could now clearly see their chapter emblem... an angry face. "YOU FUCKED UP SOME OF THESE FUCKING BITCH-ASS POSERS GOOD TIME!"

"Thanks... You remind me of some people back when I was alive."

"THAT'S FUCKING AWESOME!" He raised a hand in victory. "WE HAVE MORE OF THESE FUCKERS TO KILL OFF. YOU FUCKING READY TO GO SKULL-FUCK MORE OF THESE TRAITOR BITCHES?"

"FUCK YEAH!" The yelling the Angry Sergeant was letting loose invigorated him, even as Reri sighed. "LET'S GO!" But while the Khornate Berserkers had been defeated - the real troubles were about to begin.

It was time for a blast from the past to haunt him once again.


	11. Chapter 13

_Space Hulk Nihilus Rex, Angrimar, 2 866.999.M41_

The horde of Space Marines, in concert with the power-armored human and the Dark Eldar 'prisoner' of his, traveled down a hallway. The air grew hot and humid, and if he didn't know any better, he would've sworn that creepy vines had invaded the walls of the ship. Not willing to take a chance, the Perdition squads raised their incinerators, burning away the foul plant life as they entered a tremendous chamber. What the millennial saw was quite possibly one of the most horrifying things he had ever seen.

There was a giant, fat, diseased, rotting, foul-smelling person in the middle of a room covered with muck, slime, and fungal growths. He was maddeningly obese to the extreme, bloated to a height and weight far beyond any human. Horrific antlers jutted from his head, and impaled upon each was a woman, wearing nary a scrap of clothing, their flesh as mottled with spores and pustules as his own. A single horn jutted up from their heads as they gurgled. The millennial stared at the unclean abomination before noticing that something was around its neck, the thin trappings of what once had been hair cleverly concealing it. It appeared to be some sort of medallion, covered with filth that disguised its original appearance. Upon the horrific entity's right shoulder was a large, bestial creature - half slug, half Cthulhu-like monstrosity.

"What the fuck is that?"

"IT'S A FUCKING GREAT UNCLEAN ONE, SICKEST FUCKERS NURGLE HAS!" The Sergeant bellowed loudly, a fatal mistake as the daemonic monstrosity awoke, waddling around to face the intruders to its sacred domain. The Nurglettes impaled upon its horns awoke, moaning in labored gasps as they slowly moved to remove themselves from their position. It was a horrifying perversion of all that was holy, and even the Grey Knights couldn't help but turn away in disgust. The raccoon-like gaze over the Great Unclean One's eyes twitched as it roared out some undecipherable gibberish, raising its monstrous corroded blade as it lurched forward. The horrifying giggling noises came from within its torn belly, Nurglings rushing out of the festering wound as the Beast of Nurgle lept onto an Angry Marine, the acidic saliva from its tongue melting through the armor and eventually dissolving the very flesh from his face.

They were in a fight for their lives.

Crushing a Nurgling under foot, the millennial sprayed blasts from his Volkite Weapons at the surprisingly nimble Nurglettes, as the squads of Grey Knights pummeled the monstrous Great Unclean One with burst of psycannon fire, a wall of holy fire from the incinerators stopping most of the Nurglings from slipping past. Two of the Angry Marines were stabbing their chainswords into the flesh of the Beast, trying to take it down even as it ate another of their brethren, his armored hand sticking from the abomination's mouth even as it dissolved through the lifeless flesh of the monster's belly. "FUCK YOU FOR EATING BROTHER CUNTFACE! FUCKING COCKSUCKER!"

But even the blaze of glory proved not to be enough. The line began to crumble as several Grey Knights were overwhelmed by the mass of Nurglings that nipped at their armor, burying them in unholy filth. Though their armor was blessed, the poisonous corruption of the mass of Nurglite mites began to sink in, cries of agony spreading through their ranks.

And in response came the Angry Marines. Though they felt that the attitude of the Ordo Malleus' chapter of Astartes was extremely unnecessary, considering how holier-than-thou they seemed, they wouldn't let some mob of daemons overwhelm their brothers. Charging forward into the mass with chainswords roaring, the yellow Marines growled in rage, screaming their warcry at the top of their lungs as they began to massacre some of Nurgle's favored daemons.

Reri found herself battling against a particularly skilled Nurglette who attempted to headbutt her, only to find herself forced onto the Dark Eldar's impaler. Even the wych's weapon failed to stop the Nurglette, who attempted still to force herself further through the weapon's spikes just to attack the woman. A swift cut from her falchion removed the daemon's arms and legs, and her body was left limbless, seeping foul fluids before getting tossed in the path of an incinerator.

More Nurglings rushed forward - these with spine-like protrusions running down their back. They were almost hedgehog-like in their appearance, but were cut down or burned by the horde. The Great Unclean One raised a hand before striking weakly with its blade onto the ground, a terrifying shockwave sending many of the Grey Knights to the ground as the Nurglings moved forward to assail both them and their anger-filled brethren. More clearly now, the millennial saw precisely what was around the neck of the greater daemon - a spiked medallion. Sending a shot towards it, the beast fell back a bit before rushing forward, rancidly fattened flesh jiggling as it sent the sword limply flying through the ranks of the Space Marines. Some were killed, but others found themselves knocked back - a couple Terminators in particular finding it hard to get up.

Now that the medallion was more visible, he could clearly see what it was - something yellow, with black eyes. _A Pikachu medallion? The fuck... No,, wait..._ It all made sense. The lewd fem-daemons impaling themselves on his horns... The spiny Nurglings... The beast on his shoulder... There was only one entity from his time that could've ever possibly ascended to the power of a Great Unclean One, only one man who could've ever shown so much disrespect for himself that Nurgle would've brought him into his filthy embrace.

"Chris-chan!" The Great Unclean One stopped for a moment, turning back around before his 'true name' was spoken. "Christopher Christian Ricardo Weston Chandler!" The utterance of his true name weakened the corpulent monstrosity, who took a step back as the Grey Knights regrouped. When he had become one of Nurgle's most loved greater daemons, the Chaos God of decay had never told him the vulnerabilities of being an entity of the Warp.

"Hit him with all you've got!"

"CUT THAT FUCKER UP LIKE A MOTHERFUCKING STEAK CUT, FUCKERS!"

A squad of Angry Marine Terminators plunged their claws into the beast's flesh, climbing up his body as Grey Knights stepped forward, searing the monster's flesh as psycannon rounds perforated deep into the daemon's body, rending its form in the Materium asunder. One last blast from the ancient human's Serpenta struck the daemon's medallion point-blank, shattering it and causing the remains to fall to the floor. Its tether to the realm of reality severed, Chris-Chan cried out as his essence was slowly sucked back into Immaterium, forced to wait another thousand years until his resurgence. With their leader gone, the rest of the Nurglite forces attempted to flee - some returned to the realm of nonexistence, saved from death through the sacrifice of their patriarch, while many others were burned or cut down by the blessed armament of the Adeptus Astartes.

"You... How did you know his true name?" Brother-Captain Mithrac raised a power sword at him in a most accusatory manner.

"He plagued my time. That motherfucker leeched away my country's tax dollars and harmed many people before being locked away. He was responsible for writing some of the most horrific comics in existence..."

The Grey Knight had no clue what comics were - but from the words of the ancient who stood before him, the daemon that had once been the creator of Sonichu was not a new foe to humanity, despite the Ordo Malleus having never encountered him before - he marked down the information within his armor's systems, in order to notify an astropath the moment they returned to the strike cruiser. The rest of the promethium they kept in store was utilized to burn away every trace of corruption in this section of the space hulk, purging it from the daemonic defilement of the Lord of Plagues.

Still, there was more to come.

* * *

 _Space Hulk Nihilus Rex, Angrimar, 2 867.999.M41_

The hairs on the back of the millennial's neck tingled. Something very, very peculiar was going on, and the Grey Knights' Brother-Captain leading the squads from the 8th Brotherhood snarled in disgust. "The taint of Tzeentch permeates these walls... There must be a Chaos Sorcerer leading these miscreants."

"...Sorcerer? What is this, Dungeons and Dragons?"

Mithrac Tor ignored the ancient reference before explaining. "They are powerful psykers, Librarians from the Thousand Sons who turned away from the Emperor and instead chose to pursue forbidden knowledge. They find themselves obsessed with it, and are constantly guarded by a cacophony of Rubric Marines."

As they stepped into the room where a Tzeetchian ritual was taking place, the human who had formerly been in stasis uttered out rather loudly that "Tzeentch is a fucking nerd for having Rubik's Cube Marines." This interruption caught the attention of the sorcerer leading the group, who locked eyes with the artificer-armored warrior, his guard of Rubric Marines mechanically turning towards the intruders.

"Hold it... Hold your fire, guys. I got this. Yo! Yo Sorcerer-guy!" He waved, Volkite Serpenta at his hip as he smirked. "I heard you like knowledge."

"That is hardly the way to address your intellectual superior, mortal. I am Elusynion, Arch-Sorcerer of Chaos and servant of the mighty Tzeentch. You will bow." He held the daemon weapon in his hand - a monstrous sword - as he awaited for the human to subjugate himself. Unsurprisingly, he did not.

"Tell you what... I'll bow. WITH ONE EXCEPTION." He cut the sorcerer off before he had the chance to respond. "I will ask you three questions. If you fail to answer at least one of them correctly, well... You'll have humiliated yourself in front of your entire honor guard. Not to mention I'm pretty sure your boss will be pissed that you lack the knowledge he assumedly possesses. I mean, I'm guessing this guy's the biggest egghead in the galaxy, and he wants his tools to be as knowledgeable in things."

A sneer came from the vox-caster of the sorcerer as he stepped towards the center of the room, the millennial meeting him there and sizing him up - despite the difference in height of over a foot and a half, not including the Chaos Space Marine's horns. "Very well, mortal. And when I succeed your paltry challenge... I will sacrifice your soul to Tzeentch to gain more of his blessing."

"Fair enough." He began. "Alright... Question 1. What happens when Pinocchio says 'My nose grows now'?"

"His nose grows."

"Wrong." The millennial smirked. "His nose only grows when he lies, so if his nose grows, he's telling the truth, so his nose doesn't grow. But if his nose doesn't grow, then he's lying, which means it should grow. But if-"

"Enough! Get to the next question!" The sorcerer growled - there were still two left, a simple enough situation leaving the odds in his favor.

"Very well... A mass of sand sits on the beach. A heap, if you will. You remove a single grain of sand - it's still a heap. If the removal of one grain of sand does not make the difference between a heap or not, how many grains would need to be removed in order for the heap to not be called a heap?" Paradoxes were something he had once been into... Something that was most certainly a win-win.

"...Approximately ten million?"

"Wrong. If the removal of a grain of sand does not make the difference between a heap or not, one could theoretically keep removing single grains of sand, further and further decreasing the heap in size, but maintaining its status. Thus, even a grain of sand can be called a heap. The correct answer would've been if there were no remaining grains left - thus, nothing to declare a heap, though even that could be argu-"

"Be silent, mortal..." Rage had begun to consume the sorcerer at his lack of knowledge and understanding regarding these ancient methods of thought - paradoxes didn't exist in the modern day. Perhaps because they were too laborious - or perhaps they were considered to be useless thinking, those pondering on them being better used elsewhere. "Utter the last question."

"Alrighty, you asked for it..." The millennial took a deep breath, until a question formed itself in front of his face. He gave the most twisted grin that had ever formed upon his face, turning to look up at the sorcerer as he opened his mouth to speak.

"What... is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?"

He couldn't see past the helmet of the sorcerer's armor, but it was as though he could almost feel the tension in the air as the fallen Marine attempted to artifice a response. It was a mere mathematical problem - though one could argue that the millennial's refusal to mention whether the swallow in question was African or European counted as cheating. Those birds had long since died off from the face of Holy Terra, their habitats paved over with temples and palaces for the God-Emperor, an entity that he had never met, nor heard of during his time on Earth.

"I... do not know." Big mistake.

A cry fell from the voicebox of the Chaos Sorcerer as he fell forward, hands grasping at the metal deck-plate as the pseudo-Inquisitor ran back to the side of the Grey Knights. Claws rended open ceramite plates, chunks of the metal falling off as his body twisted, flesh and muscle rending apart into grotesque shapes as his mind descended into madness. A horrific cry fell through the room as the machine-marines watched their leader's devolution into a Chaos Spawn, courtesy of his failure to be ascendant knowledge-wise over a mere mortal. Within his realm of Chaos, the constantly shapeshifting Chaos God laughed to himself at the circumstances - perhaps this one would prove a useful tool to manipulate in the future. Or perhaps not. The ways of the Master of Change were constantly changing, being broken down and reforged into new and methodical designs.

As for the Chaos Spawn itself, several shots from the Serpenta the millennial carried rendered it no longer among the living. The Rubric Marines turned, bolters drawn to engage the one who had disposed of their master... when they froze. It was as though they were all in stasis, no longer capable of motion now that the power of the Warp fueling their motion was cut. Their inactive state was notices as Reri attempted to push one of the titanic suits of armor over with little success. Rushing forward herself, she sank her claws into the Chaos Spawn, allowing her blackened soul to feed upon the tortured remnants of his spirit, satiating her Thirst a fragment more. He shrugged it off - _She's just making sure it's dead._

But this left one last Chaos God's forces to deal with. It was one that college-aged men were most susceptible to, one that had been the downfall of many men and women throughout history, weak and strong. Reri stood up, somewhat refreshed as she eyed the door covered with blasphemous Chaos iconography, the purple and black stripes adorning it barbarically. And that Chaos God was waiting for them...

"She Who Thirsts."


	12. Chapter 14

_Space Hulk Nihilus Rex, Angrimar, 2 867.999.M41_

The scorch of an incinerator's holy flame burned through the chaotic iconography as the boot from the millennial's artificer armor finally forced the melted mass of metal back, a hole opening as the doors sprung open, what held them shut no longer connecting the pair together. Upon the nearby wall was a crude drawing in what looked like blackened blood of someone utilizing combat drugs, with much profanity in barely legible script running across the wall as well. The blood trailed further down the hallway, where a T-shaped intersection resulted in the need to split up. Choosing a reasonable course of option, he went with the Angry Marines and Reri down the path the blood still trailed down, the Grey Knight squads traveling down the other path. As he motioned for everyone to be quiet, he could hear it - sounds down the hallway, as another stroke of dried blood formed on the wall.

The closer they traveled to the noise, the louder it became - a horrifying mesh of screams, moans, gurgles, and every other sound of pleasure one could ever possibly expect to hear ring through the air. It was almost deafening as the group stepped forward - Reri herself began to cover her ears in pain, and such was the reason that the millennial sacrificed his helmet to the woman - it was a tight fit, but it dampened the noise enough that she was able to not be overwhelmed by it. Wincing, he took another step forward, and another, before firing his Serpenta at the thin veil that was covering the doorway at the end of the hall, the fabric burning away from the intense heat of the ancient relic's burst. Immediately, the noises stopped, and Reri cordially returned him his helmet, which he placed back on his head as he rushed into the room.

It was... disturbing. Very, very, disturbing. Immensely fat men sat around a table, what looked like chicken drumsticks frozen in their mouths as they eyed the newcomers. A band of purple-fleshed Chaos cultists ceased mid-instrumentation, their bizarre instruments looking more like a horrifying form of personal speaker. Their conductor was an almost-woman with a single breast, horrific crab-like claws, and a face only a mother could love, adorned with purple hair tied in a feral ponytail. In the corner, lewd and abominable acts were being committed by what were certainly Astartes at one time, in concert with female abominations, some of whom wore spiked armor, others who looked like the crab-woman he had seen earlier.

And upon the far end of the room sat a woman on a throne - a work of art, certainly, though it looked most maleficent now. Two horned Chaos Marines flanked her, what looked like gothic pipe organs glued to their backs as they held what looked like electric guitars turned into guns. The woman herself seemed normal at first glance, but as he stepped closer, he noticed the horrifying length of her tongue, her soulless white eyes lacking even the faintest trace of an iris. Her flesh was marked with colorful, albeit hideous markings, a sword connected to her right arm through a series of tubes, forcing it to dangle from her side.

"It ssssseems we have an intruder." The woman spoke, a forced hiss coming from her speech due to the aberrancy caused by the mutated organ between her lips. "I am Miriael Sssssabathiel. Champion of the god of much pleasssssure - Ssssslaanesh. You will join in our fessssstivities, or you will die."

Reri looked almost longingly at the indulgence around her - it reminded her of Commorragh back home as her eyes glanced left and right, scanning across the room as the millennial eyed up at the woman in question. The Angry Marines, for whatever reason, chose to remain silent, power fists raised in preparation for battle. He stared at her before taking a step towards the throne she was on, the two Noise Champions flanking the throne eying him cautiously as he took yet another step. Volkite weapon was at his hip, power maul over his back as his mind rushed through how he was going to handle the situation.

 _Two guys... She's on a throne... Maybe... Yeah, that should work..._

Soon, he stood directly before her, her practically hypnotic gaze luring him closer and closer in preparation for however she intended to debauch herself with him. The final calculations of what best he would do exited his mind as he bolstered what untrained mental defenses he had, doing his best to resist the woman's lure.

"X-Y-Z-Z-Y."

A raised hand quickly grasped the servant of Slaanesh's writhing tongue as he pulled back. There were two possibilities - either he would end up ripping her tongue out, a dreadful thought, or he would send her flying back into the crowd of Astartes, who likely would rip her apart. But what actually occurred was far less expected - she was sent into the roof of the room, the Agoniser soon following and impaling itself into the ancient steel. Gravity did the rest, pulling her down and forcing her to dangle from the ceiling. While she was still indisposed, her servants watching as she regained the composure to scream orders, he brought the fully-charged power maul down upon the throne, the metal it was made of flying in all directions and sending him through the air, crashing into the Chaos Champion and knocking her down from the ceiling, some of the tubes of her Daemon Weapon tearing in the process.

And with such, the battle began. Screams arose from the cultists and their Daemonette wards as they began to fervently unleash themselves upon the group of rage-filled Angry Marines. The twin Noise Champions cried out, their Doom Sirens amplifying their cries to a deafening noise as they unleashed their Blastmasters upon the first wave of Astartes to engage them, the sonic pulses having a horrifying effect as the organs of the company's grunts melted into a mush of flesh, their armor falling forward, their gene-seed irrecoverable. One of the leading Astartes impaled a multitude of cultists with Lightning Claws before a Daemonette buried one of her crab-like claws into his lower leg, forcing him to the ground as she cut further through the joint, amputating it.

Reri knew that there would be no way for melee-oriented Space Marines to get close enough to assail the biggest threats, that being the Noise Champions. As quickly as she could possibly travel, she wielded her Impaler, leaping forward around the the left Chaos Marine before rebounding off the wall like a basketball, jamming the Dark Eldar weapon's trident-like tips deep within the structure of the infernal instrument. The yelling of the former member of the Emperor's Children turned to screams as the abominable weapon's pipes began to spew out chunks of metal circulating through his system and shredding his organs from the inside out. The distraction was enough that the other Noise Champion soon found himself set upon by Angry Marines, one of whom cut the vox-caster out of his mouth, the blade of a chainsword penetrating through his skull and dropping the mutated Marine to the floor.

All that really remained from the menagerie of Slaanesh-worshippers were the Daemonettes, their summoning circles defiled and their support devastated. Such being the case, the hideous monstrosities returned to the Warp, leaving the Chaos Champion that was Miriael Sabathiel alone. She raised her weapon, charging towards the millennial as he reached back, bringing the power maul down to slam directly in-between the cap on the woman's boob-plate.

Two things happened from this... the Armor of Ecstasy fused to her flesh cracked, the torso plate damaged by the blow as blackened ichor seeped from between the broken plates, she herself having been sent flying back into the furthest off wall. Growling, the teeth on the end of her warped tongue opening and closing in fury as she grabbed the sword and rushed down a hallway. And like a fool, he followed.

He began to lose sight of her around the third bend, not even bothering to wait for Reri or the Angry Marines as he further pursued her, doing his best to keep track of her down the hallway, the trail of poison seeping from the damaged tubes forming a trail across the floor. Continually, he followed it at full pace, the power armor helping him keep his stamina up until he reached the end of the trail.

There was nothing. No trace of the Dark Sister anywhere. The trail of the vile Slaaneshi liquid stopped there, several meters away from the end of the hall. He froze, growling and cursing to himself - she had gotten away, likely with the help of a sorcerer. "Alright... Are there any fucking psychic people who can track her?"

"I can." A voice came from a helmetless Angry Marine, who seemed somewhat calm compared to his brethren. He wore what looked like a hood over his head, as bald as the rest of them as he stepped forward. "She went through a warp gate. I do not sense her presence anywhere on this Space Hulk - the taint of a Slaaneshi witch like she is often very visible."

The millennial was less shocked at her being able to travel through what was essentially a portable stargate and moreso at the calm this individual showcased. "Um... Why aren't you yelling and cursing me out?"

He turned, looking down at the smaller human. "I am Vendetus Ragin, Librarian of the Ninth Company. For many of us Angry Marines, the sheer anger we feel fuels every facet of our being - but some are, with training, able to control the rage. To harness it and focus it. Those are the other nine companies - which is why our Chapter has a very large Tenth Company."

"Well, at least you aren't bat fuck insane. Or at the least, apeshit crazy." Good thing he had no idea what the hell that meant. "Are you positive she's not on this wreck?"

"Certainly. The touch of Chaos still lingers from the dead, as well as the blasphemous iconography, but such will be purged in time by the Mechanicus. The Ecclesiarchy - and in particular, the Adepta Sororitas - will want to know about her being here."

"Very well... Now, I want everything you can salvage salvaged. Save who you can, and give me a line. I want all the armor suits - especially those Rubik Marines - within my possession. Seeing as my time working for the Inquisitorial Representative is up, I might as well catch a ride back to Earth and bring all this shit with me so it can be purged and reused. Those Mechanicus guys aren't insane enough to just destroy good war equipment, right?"

"They..." Vendetus paused, choosing not to elaborate more. "I'll let you find out for yourself when you return to Holy Terra."

* * *

 _Battle Barge Fucked Your Bitch Twice, Angrimar, 2.869.999.M41_

The Angry Marines' Battle Barge was the perfect place to celebrate their victory over the forces of Chaos, but for the millennial, it was a time of sullen contemplation. He had the opportunity to kill Miriael Sabathiel. Her real importance in the scheme of things was lost to him, but she was the enemy - or one of them at least - and he had failed in his duty to end her before she could run away and start again. It was like his homeland and the terrorists - they had failed to kill a terrorist leader once when they had the opportunity, and as a result, he returned, wreaking havoc for almost two decades before finally being killed in a midnight raid.

Such was how it would be here, most likely - but she had the one thing he didn't have available to him. Time. The corrupting forces of the Warp helped preserve her twisted body, her devotion to the Prince of Pleasure ensuring that she would survive relatively intact to fight another day. For him, however... There were few things he could do to stay alive. Perhaps they'd developed regenerative medicine by now. Then again, maybe prosthetics would be best. Hell, maybe he'd end up nothing more than a brain in a jar, controlling an exoskeleton vaguely human-shaped, such was how desperately they would end up needing him. And that was only if they didn't consider his ideas heretical - he did openly consort with the xeno, after all.

"That was... exhilarating. To finally kill some of She Who Thirsts' followers..." Reri stepped into the room, sitting down next to him. "Are you alright?" She showcased a rare look of concern - one could argue as to its sincerity or not - as she moved closer to him. Her weapons and his own were locked away, the armor and Volkite Serpenta returned, for now, to the armory of the Angry Marines. All he wore at the moment was an extremely oversized undershirt(a spare Astartes one) and a pair of boxers that thankfully fit. He quietly motioned for her to come closer, giving a soft sigh.

"I don't know how to best explain it, Reri." He frowned. "I know I won... But I lost too." Leaning back against the wall, he bemoaned his situation. "It's just, I dunno... You wouldn't get it."

"I get more than you might realize, mon'keigh." She smiled, wrapping an arm gently around him, her nails gently grazing over the shirt he wore.

"Perhaps I can help you settle your nerves."


	13. Chapter 15

_Grey Knights Strike Cruiser Malcador Ascendent, edge of Sol, 1 894.999.M41_

"Ow... ow... ow..."

Had it calmed his nerves? Somewhat. Had it hurt significantly, strained his muscles and cracked some of his bones? Most certainly. But was it worth it?

Fuck yes.

Their 'enjoyment' of one another, which consisted chiefly of her having bound him to the wall as she clawed over his body with her scalpel-like nails, his flesh finding itself rended apart as she feasted upon the pain that ravaged his soul, was somewhat interrupted by a knock at the door. He considered it fortunate that he wasn't losing blood from anything higher than his shoulders, even as he told the person on the other side to wait. Reri found herself quickly lapping up the blood from his wounds, enjoying the taste of his life-essence as he quickly moved to fit himself back into his suit of carapace armor.

Now they were here on the _Malcador Ascendent_ once more, his slow trotting to a spare room ending up decreasing to a crawl as his wounds still leaked blood into his plate. Now it was Reri's turn to help support him as he fell to the bed, utterly exhausted even as their 'session of experience' was scarcely half finished. She began to strip him of his plate, him proving too weak to resist as he was reduced to nothingness, his flesh clear of every single article of clothing as he limply tried to struggle. She knew he couldn't afford to die - her proving unable to manage even a simple mon'keigh like him would be disgraceful, considering the reputed ease with which Lelith had broken her father in some couple hundred years earlier. As he weakly raised his hand towards what looked like a medi-kit - in reality, a Narthecium - she grabbed it, opening it up to reveal a wide variety of medical instruments.

"Gauze..." He whispered quietly, and Reri began to pull a wide variety of instruments out of the Astartes medi-pack. Combat drug injectors, scalpels... She grunted, pulling out a Reductor as it made a clang onto the floor. Each time, he shook his head - then again, he didn't expect her to know what gauze was. Until she finally raised up a roll of what appeared to be a sterile dressing. Carefully, she wrapped it around his body, only to find that it further weakened him. Stepping back, she helped him stand up, as he slowly staggered towards the door - to a waiting Grey Knights battle-brother who quickly grabbed him and carried him away.

"What are you doing with him, mon'keigh?"

"Did he take those wrappings from the Narthecium, xenos witch?"

She growled in contempt towards him as she followed his travels. "Yes... He suffered some... egregious wounds."

"Then he's at a tremendous risk of dying. That was leech-cloth, what Astartes use to remove excessive amounts of poison. It absorbs tainted blood out the wound to minimize the impact..."

Opening up a door to the Apothecarion on board the Space Marines' starship, he sat the ancient human down on a table, exposing him once more as one of the Apothecaries rushed up, cutting away at the crimson-stained leech-cloth. "This doesn't look good. He's lost too much blood. I see only one possible option to save him."

"D-d-d-do it..." The millennial managed to spit out with a weak breath. Soon, he would lapse into unconsciousness once more...

* * *

 _Grey Knights Strike Cruiser Malcador Ascendent, Mars orbit, 1 896.999.M41_

When he awoke, he immediately sat up only to find himself experiencing a tremendous amount of torso pain. It reminded him of how he felt in his last few minutes of conscious thought prior to falling into the abyss of undeath, the cold spray of liquid nitrogen on his flesh preserving him for millennia.

Looking down, he saw that his torso was almost completely metal - surprisingly aesthetically pleasing. The sole thing he found himself appreciating was the distinct fact that he didn't look like a nightmare in metal, unlike the Mechanicus explorator he had met previously. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him, of course - practically all of his torso-based organs had been removed and replaced with the most advanced bionics the Grey Knights had on hand. The only thing they didn't touch was his digestive system - his heart and liver, lungs and pancreas, all were removed and replaced with bionic implants. To make things even more interesting, he noticed that his flesh was a bit paler - the artificial heart no longer pumping blood, but a substitute. He guessed it was likely perflubron, or something similar like that.

Slowly sitting up, he found that the wounds in his flesh were chiefly repaired, barely visible scarring remaining as he moved his arms and legs, doing his best to ensure that he would have the right level of maneuverability to function. As he placed a foot down on the floor, the door opened as Techmarine Denarius stepped out. "So it seems you've grown closer to the Omnissiah's vision since last we met."

"Yeah..." He had no idea what to really say - he didn't know anything of the rituals of the Cult Mechanicus, or really anything about the religion of the tech-priests of Mars. "Not bad, all things considered. Hardly feels like my torso's a machine now."

"The enhancement process you've undergone has made you superior to how you previously were. Your lungs and heart are now machine instead of flesh - no longer will your circulatory system be so easily affected by poison or toxic gases."

"Well, that's cool. At least I don't look inhuman... No offense." He stared at the half of Denarius's head that was cybernetic, cold and soulless - like a Borg.

"I can understand your skepticism. Such technology likely did not exist during your millennia."

"Not entirely true..." He paused. "Somewhat primitive cybernetics existed. We were just starting to develop robot eyes and limbs when I died." Stepping forward, wearing naught but a medical vest, he followed the Techmarine out to one of the few windows of the Strike Cruiser, eying over the rust-world that was the fourth rock from the Sun.

For the most part, it looked almost identical to its original appearance. The only real difference he saw was the artificial ring built around the planet, a monstrous humanocentric construct likely used for further advancement the forges. Were this the case, though... Well, it seemed a queer extension to make, seeing as there appeared to be plenty of oxidized ground to build new foundries on. With the soil of the world enriched with iron - a building block in even the most primitive of modern technologies - it did admittedly seem a perfect manufacturing world, though he wondered how it was that people lived there, no vegetation to be seen.

"Your xenos associate will be in orbit, waiting for you during your excursion to Mars. She is not allowed on the planet itself, though she may drop you off and pick you up once your sojourn has ended."Denarius nodded, looking down upon him. "The Fabricator-General will await your arrival upon the surface."

Nodding, the millennial slowly lumbered back to the chamber in order to gather his belongings, Reri swiftly catching up to him. "I assume we need to go?"

The ancient human said nothing to the Wych as he entered the room, opening the trunk their weapons were stored in, along with his Adept robe, the Inquisitorial Rosette, and the damaged suit of Carapace Armor he wore. Slowly, he suited up once again, only to find that there were gifts for him from the Grey Knights for his brief tenure with them - courtesy of the Eighth Brotherhood's Grand Master, Aidan Perdron. A small crate had been packed with the suit of artificer armor - ostensibly to protect him from the harsh Martian atmosphere - as well as the Volkite Serpenta he had reactivated. Both were precious relics from the chapter, and both the outside and inside of the crate were inscribed with hexagrammic wards that, within, were entangled with blessings to the God-Emperor, blessing the equipment on its journey.

"Thank you..." He nodded to their leader, giving a respectable bow. "I will always endeavour to show the utmost honor and respect towards those who have blessed me with these new instruments of war." After all, in the grim darkness of the far future, there was only war, war, and more war. The entirety of human society seemed to ultimately revolve around such - whether it was war on heretics, or war on aliens, war was war.

His piloting skills had slowly gotten better, the machine-spirit of his Arvus Lighter having slowly but surely assisted him in learning how to pilot the craft. While in some cases it had been genuinely helpful, sometimes he couldn't help but feel as though he was being trolled by the craft. That would certainly be a surprise - internet trolls were bad enough, but a starship that could troll? Yep, definitely hilarious.

It was time to head over to the red planet.

* * *

 _Grand Temple of the Omnissiah, Mars, 1 897.999.M41_

When he had landed, decked out in artificer armor with a master-crafted power maul and a Volkite Weapon in his hand, the tech-priests who eyed him immediately gave a bow. Apparently wearing stuff that was high-quality brought immense amount of respect from these technical people, though he wondered how knowledgeable they were. He himself had gotten a Bachelor Degree in aerospace engineering shortly before his untimely death, but wondered what sort of technical level these individuals had. Tugging on the robes of one Tech-Priest who leaned over a nearby workbench, sautering together some sort of circuit, he tried to get the attention of someone.

"Could one of you direct me to where I can find the Fabricator-General? He told me he'd meet me upon my arrival."

++And here I wondered as to when you would arrive,++ chirped a distinctly mechanical voice. His artificial optics and gas mask-like facial structure reconfirmed that yes, he was the Fabricator-General. ++I am Gastaph Hediatrix, Fabricator-General of Mars, High Tech-Priest of the Cult Mechanicus, and leader of the Adeptus Mechanicus, most loyal servant of the Omnissiah. Please, allow me to show you throughout the halls of this temple.++

"Um... Nice to meet you." He held out a hand that was carefully accepted by a mechanical augment that had replaced his fleshy arm millennia ago. "So, where's the assembly line? What design system do you use? Any recent inventions?"

++I appreciate your enthusiasm, but we must take things one thing at a time.++ He responded, turning away, mechadendrite motioning for the human to come along. Though he did have artificial lungs, he was glad he wasn't trying them out - according to the armor's internal systems, the atmosphere on Mars was a over 95% carbon dioxide. It was a treehugger's worst nightmare.

++The Grand Temple of the Omnissiah is where many of our most sacred relics are artificed. Titans, artificer armor... All is constructed here, and when necessary, maintained here. Dedication to the Omnissiah - that is, the Machine-God - is utmost, and every ritual must be followed to please the machine-spirit.++ The millennial was stunned. ++Have you performed the proper rituals of maintenance on your armor and weapons?++

"Um... No. I don't even know what they're made of, let alone how to repair them. Not like I got some sort of instruction manual when the Grey Knights gave them to me." He flexed a shoulder a bit as the two made their way inside. Though many of the tech-priests had less facial paneling than the Fabricator-General himself, they all had mask-like structures, either worn or imbedded into their face to protect against the atmosphere. "I mean, from what their Techmarine told me, you don't even know how to maintain this gun anymore, let alone use it."

++Such information is here, albeit lost.++ The Martian continued. ++Nevertheless we will certainly need to provide you with the necessary resources so you may manage your own equipment. That, or we will send an enginseer with you upon your travels, to study your artifacts. We would abhor seeing your equipments' machine-spirits choose to fail you in a moment of importance.++

"...Okay, you're really starting to weird me out. What's a machine-spirit?"

++Every fragment of technology has been granted by the Machine God with a machine-spirit. Whether your equipment serves you without malfunction or not depends on their disposition - such is the necessity for the rituals, prayers, and offerings that make up a maintenance routine performed by a standard enginseer for a single piece of technology. These may vary in length or complexity depending on the relic in question.++ So they believed that all machines, whether they relied on digital assistance or not, had some sort of spirit that determined if they worked or not?

"I'm... gonna have to disagree with you on that one. I learned how to work on this sort of stuff during the third millennium, and there was no such thing as a machine-spirit. Any incident of a piece of technology failing to function was more often than not due to someone being lazy with regards to ensuring they worked properly." He took a pause to breathe. "I mean, do you expect me to honestly believe that I have to pray to some unproven spirit within a can-opener and say 'Oh benevolent machine-spirit, I pray to the Omnissiah that your edge be sharpened, and that you may always, no matter the can, be able to open it through your holy cutting wheel,' just to get it to work when I could simply sharpen the edge of said cutting wheel and sand away any rust that forms on the blade?"

++You doubt the truth of the Omnissiah?++ The tone of the Fabricator-General grew more grim. ++Then I shall show you the truth, and you shall learn. You shall not speak such heresy in his temple, no matter what knowledge of the machine you may have!++ Sternly leading the old Terran through a hallway, he chanted the litany of the Mechanicus, in order to sanctify his showcasing of what he intended to next reveal.

++There is no truth in flesh, only betrayal. There is no strength in flesh, only weakness. There is no constancy in flesh, only decay. There is no certainty in flesh but death. The Credo Omnissiah.++ He began, stepping down to a vault door at the far end of the room. His mechadendrites began to press a variety of hidden buttons on the wall.

++Life is directed motion. The spirit is the spark of life. Sentience is the ability to learn the value of knowledge. Intellect is the understanding of knowledge. Sentience is the basest form of Intellect. Understanding is the True Path to Comprehension. Comprehension is the key to all things. The Omnissiah knows all, comprehends all. The alien mechanism is a perversion of the True Path. The soul is the conscience of sentience. A soul can be bestowed only by the Omnissiah. The Soulless sentience is the enemy of all life. The knowledge of the ancients stands beyond question. The Machine Spirit guards the knowledge of the Ancients. Flesh is fallible, but ritual honours the Machine Spirit. To break with ritual is to break with faith. The Sixteen Universal Laws.++ Methodically, the vault opened to reveal something massive. Something absolutely astonishing, yet ancient. Familiar, yet bizarre.

"Where did you..."


	14. Chapter 16

_Grand Temple of the Omnissiah, Mars, 1 897.999.M41_

"Where did you... Where did you find that thing?" The millennial was extremely confused - he knew precisely what was before him, and yet... he didn't remember it looking this way at all. The side sponsons were familiar... But it was massive, way too big to possibly be what he believed it to be. Not to mention the locations for those boltgun weapons, far larger a caliber than anything back on earth sans the .950 JDJ.

++The technical specifications of this vehicle were discovered during a sojourn here on Mars by technoarchaeologist Arkhan Land. With them, we manufactured this vehicle - with one of the most active machine-spirits in any Imperial vehicle, regardless of the branch of service.++

"This... Is outdated technology updated to the extreme. A British Mark... Um, I dunno. 4 or 5, probably, These vehicles were over a hundred years old when I was put into cryostasis. You've really upscaled this thing, to say the least... I mean, these tanks were removed from service seventy years before I was born, simply because turreted tanks ended up reigning as king."

++And I assume the vehicles from your day mounted lascannons and storm bolters...++ The Fabricator-General scoffed. ++This is the mightiest vehicle in the armament of the Adeptus Astartes, a vehicle capable of carrying troops throughout the battlefield, impervious to all targets - and capable of fighting even if the crew is deceased.++

"Wait... So you've fitted basic computer systems into this thing? You using a DOS-style or Windows-style OS?" So it was somewhat automated, like the generations of war machines during his lifetime.

++The cogitator systems are of an ancient design, discovered even prior to the STC dataslate for this vehicle.++

"The what..." He noticed what appeared to be an ancient scroll that the leading tech-priest had brought to him. Opening it up, he immediately recognized the paper - blackened with age, the faded coloration of the original blue ink impressed upon the material was still somewhat visible. "These... These are blueprints."

++They are hard copies of the information previously stored on Standard Template Construct libraries. In rare cases, we have found Standard Template Constructors - devices designed to manufacture everything from parts to complete vehicles, all based off of STC technology.++

He froze stiff for a moment, slowly handing the blueprints back to the Fabricator-General. "Okay... You're going to want to listen very closely... Because I know exactly how all of this works." Such was a half-truth. He didn't know exactly how it all worked, but he felt it could be pieced together bit by bit.

"So these Standard Template Construct things, as you've mentioned, are data files that were rendered in a 3D modeling software... And they can be turned into 2D blueprints if need be. I don't know what file system they used for these things, but hey, it doesn't really matter anymore. Anyways... So these files can be put into a device called a 3D printer - what's more than likely these Standard Template Constructors. Then the printers create something, bit by bit, until the final result is a finished weapon, tank, bullet, whatever." He stopped, pausing for a second to determine whether or not he was correct, or at least sounded such - after all, he was from the past. He could bullshit whatever he wanted to be the truth, and there doubtfully was any sort of way that they could prove he was a liar. This Emperor guy, though...

"This sort of shit was getting used back in my day. There was a whole bunch of hubbub after someone came up with the bright idea to use a 3D printer - which only worked with plastic back in the day - to make a gun that couldn't be detected by any sort of metal detection security. You wouldn't happen to have the plans for that, would you?"

++We have never come across such a set of specifications.++

"Weird... Everyone and their family downloaded those plans. Million copies spread across the net for anyone and everyone to get their hands on. Figured I could make one of those one day as an experiment."

++So you are familiar with the creation and development of these systems?++ Despite his blasphemous claims, the thirst for knowledge began to prove a bit too much for the ancient techno-artificer.

"I know how to model something in AutoCAD, yeah... But I don't suppose you have a software system you use for creating new stuff, do you?" It was probably CATIA 311.58, or something like that.

++We have cogitators specifically designed for use with the data from Standard Template Constructs. From there, new designs can be formed based on preexisting templates.++

The way he said it was wrong. _Preexisting templates._ If the templates were all preexisting, this meant one thing. There was no innovation, no invention of new and wondrous pieces of technology. Humanity would've stagnated for ages, perhaps even receded technology-wise if there was a fire or something of the sort that destroyed blueprints. "Does this mean that you've never invented anything? You've never jury-rigged a weapon?"

The Fabricator-General stared plainly at the human. ++Innovation is the ultimate form of tech-heresy.++

"...you really believe that?" The millennial gawked in disbelief. "There was a time millennia ago, even before I was born, where none of this existed. Humanity was barely capable of making fire, and more often than not just used sharpened stone as tools. But eventually, someone innovated. Someone learned how to create the bow and arrow. How to melt metal down and reforge it into brand new shapes. They developed newer and lighter materials that wielded the same levels of strength as before - Kevlar, Plexiglass, and Hardox, to name a few. The horse gave way to new innovations - chariots, first horse-drawn, then steam-powered, then gas-engined! The firearms you use today were single shot weapons that took half a minute to be reloaded not less than five hundred years before I was born! And between then and now, some of the brightest minds in military technology revolutionized how guns were made - Samuel Colt and John Browning to name a few."

"And from those guns came heavier weapons, weapons that fired explosive shells - the first cannon. Smooth-bored, then rifled, firing solid shot, then high explosive, then immensely complex sabot rounds. Eventually, those gave way to the prototype railguns - weapons that used magnetism instead of gunpowder to send projectiles flying." He paused. "These tanks went from flat-sided, sponson-armed slugs to turreted monstrosities, the might of which had never been seen before." Stepping over to a computer, he looked through the stash of STC files located on it, finding the first tank he could get a hold of.

"What. The. Fuck." The vehicle in question looked like it was something out of Indiana Jones - it appeared to have a similar body shape to the British Mark tanks, side sponson guns and all... but it had a turret on top. "This is... I don't even... Goddammit, why couldn't you have found the designs to the Abrams, or the Leopard, or even the T-55? I can point out innumerable flaws without skipping a beat - flat sides provide the least protection against RPGs and other anti-tank weapons. The track design could snap in half, even without a shot that gutted this thing. There's no ERA, no active protection... The Armata would kick this thing's ass so hard..."

And it got worse. Apparently this Leman Russ tank was, in concert with a vehicle called the Chimera, one of two chassis essentially used as the common vehicle basis. Everything that was anything apparently got shoved onto these vehicles - artillery, flamethrowers, laser cannons, plasma guns... He wasn't sure if there was a weapon that _couldn't_ be fitted onto at least one of the two.

Then came the Space Marines. What looked like an M113, or maybe an FV432... The Rhino. Notes said it had been used since humanity spread through the stars. Well, at least not _everything_ from his time had disappeared. "These things were around, in slightly modified form, even back when I was a little tyke. There was a country called the United Kingdom that used these as their primary troop transport. So that's sort of familiar." Swapping through the variants, he found...

"Dammit, not again!"

They'd done it again. Superstructure of the Rhino was raised, and a turret was mounted on top... with an autocannon. Not an actual tank gun, like the Leman Russ had - an autocannon. And it was classified as the Predator tank. "This... This is pretty heretical to me, FabGen." He gave the leader of the Mechanicus an abridged title. "This isn't a tank. A tank fits a weapon of at least 75mm in diameter. This is an infantry fighting vehicle. Not a tank. It looks like a bastardized Bradley."

Then there were weapons. Heavy stubbers. Autopistols. The Voss Pattern Mark 10 and 11 caught his eye. "The fu... These are MAC-10s. Well, MAC-11s too, I guess. These were made by a guy named Ingram. My government used them during a war a long time ago." His eye caught another weapon that, while most technologically advanced-looking, was absolutely undeniable. "Kalashnikov is gonna be rolling in his fucking grave over this..." His eyes turned to stubbers - the Colt M1911 among them. "...where did this one come from?"

The Fabricator-General paused a moment. ++That was manufactured on Vraks Prime before the world was overrun by heretics.++

"And were they Nazis? The Nazi Germans used that weapon well before I was born - the MG42. A machine gun so lethal it was nicknamed the buzzsaw. Removable barrel and all..." He was pretty shocked - particularly seeing as the last derivatives of that product of the Hitler war machine were being phased out when he was growing up. Heckler and Koch would be pretty pissed if they were still around.

That was shocking. This human knew precisely as to the sound and one of the capabilities of the Vraks-Pattern Heavy Stubber, despite having never seen one in action. ++On one hand... What you say is heretical by the standards of the Cult Mechanicus. On the other, however, you do come from before an era in which we even existed - and your words do hold some logical merit.++ He paused, turning around to think over what would be done about him. ++On one hand, you have spoken innumerable utterances of tech-heresy through your claims of innovation being the key to advancement. On the other, though... You speak of a great many technologies that are not found in any STC database.++

Motioning, his cybernetic hand's fingers fitted into dataports, sending out a call in what sounded like an auditory form of binary. Within minutes another tech-priest, this one less cybernetically adorned, with a full face unmarred by technology - the same could not be said about his body, however. His arms, legs, and everything else from what the millennial could see appeared to have been replaced with cold steel. A pair of mechadendrites stuck from the back of his robe, floating ominously like Doctor Octopus's claws from that Spider-Man movie. He appeared to have devoted himself to the Machine God to the extreme, having accepted extensive levels of cybernetic augmentation. And yet his voice still sounded so normal - albeit with a Soundwave-like ring to it.

++This is Artificer Drakon Valerius. He is one of the tech-priests responsible for using the STC databases to craft new weapons, vehicles, and starships for the Imperium. I am sending him along with you for two reasons - so that he may learn from whatever technical knowledge you possess, as well as that he may educate you in the teachings of the Cult Mechanicus due to your... exotic knowledge for technology.++ So a watchdog as well as a new party member?

"A pleasure." The Artificer nodded, holding out a metallic hand that the millennial gripped only reluctantly. "I also will ensure that your weapons are kept in the highest state of maintenance." The two Mechanicus members made the sign of the cog before the Fabricator-General turned to leave.

++Before you go... The Guardian of the Dragon wished to meet you. She wants to meet someone who remembers the story of when the Emperor defeated the Dragon of Mars.++ An unexpected detour? Sounded like fun.

But one could only wonder of his reaction to the C'tan.


	15. Chapter 17

_Noctus Labyrinthus, Mars, 1 899.999.M41_

A long time ago, there was a video game. This video game had a level that, intriguingly enough, took place on Mars. And while the Mechanicus were indeed quite a red faction, the millennial's descent through three caverns caused a bit of fear to run down his spine. Behind every grating gorge he saw a machine waiting to strike, or some corporate goon with an APC. Just because Artificer Valerius was here with him didn't give him the pause he wished he had - video games had imprinted a vision that seemed to blur itself with the reality of the situation.

Soon, they came to the entrance of a cave - a grand cave, clearly hewn by human hands. It reminded him of pictures of an underground salt mine's entrance as the two stepped in, bare brass lanterns adoring the ceiling to provide light, their dragon motifs reflected in shadowy ornation on the walls as they proceeded further in. The floor had an incline that angled downwards, further into the rusted rock.

Soon, a figure stood before them. It was a woman, seemingly unadorned with any sort of cybernetic implants. She had short blonde hair in a bob cut, and wore a tunic that completely covered her arms and legs. It was almost medieval, the appearance she had - very queer considering that the atmosphere was harsh, and her appearance was human. Only then did he notice that her eyes glowed with a spark of some sacred power - something that bolstered her flesh, preserving it and strengthening it from the harsh environment of the world she lived on. Silently beckoning, she turned around, motioning for them to follow her.

Down the incline they went, lanterns spaced out further and further until they stopped. There was a distinct line between the two - the point at which the lanterns switched from brass to some silver-like metal. The lanterns stopped being stretched out and grew closer together, lining the walls near the entrance of a massive chamber.

Within the chamber was the dragon. The Dragon of Mars, as the Mechanicus whispered it was. The beast was chained to the ground with metal that found itself warded with runes of an alphabet the neither the millennial nor Drakon had ever seen before. The metal glowed with a strange energy, and the power from the chains seemed to come from a sarcophagus-like construct, golden with tremendous amounts of engraving around a grey metal that seemed different from the lanterns. Scythe-like talons emerged from its feet, looking as though they could dash a man to pieces with a single blow. Tremendous wings jutted from its back, a burning fire within its eyes as its head turned, eying the new arrivals. From head to toe it was covered in scales that were rather indescribable - they shimmered, shifting shape even as he eyed them. It was like they were made of liquid mercury, constantly reshaping and reforming itself. The Necrodermis plate was indescribable, even as the beast gave a monstrous roar that chilled all present to the bone.

Except the Guardian. Nodding, she remained quiet before turning to her fellows. "He bids you welcome to his final resting place."

"Um... Okay." He waved to the dragon. "Hi there."

The imprisoned C'tan weakly raised a claw before roaring again. "He wishes to know what your knowledge is of his confrontation with the Emperor."

Well, that was an interesting question. "Um... you're going to have to tell me some more. What else was there?" A story of this Emperor guy fighting a dragon had never shown up in Earth's history... had it?

"Eleventh or twelfth century, Anno Domini. Cyrene, Libya. With black charger and a lance of the finest silver, he wounded the Dragon and imprisoned him here... Deep in the caves of the Noctus Labyrinthus." Cyrene, Libya... The place sounded familiar. There was the guy who helped Jesus carry his cross - he was from Cyrene. And Libya had just experienced a revolution less than a decade prior...

"Is this one of those medieval dragon stories?"

She turned to the dragon, who gave a loud roar, before giving him a befuddled glance. "He... is not entirely sure, from what I understand."

"Um... Wasn't he there? I mean, it's not everyday I meet a sentient dragon, but well... Why does he not remember?"

"Every time he speaks, it is an iteration of the truth. He has relived the event so many times that differences abound in his story - and he is unsure of them." Well, that was a good thing to know. Not only was the dragon intimidating as all hell, but it was also completely and utterly insane.

"What is the dragon?"

Another roar, another answer. "He is a devourer of stars, bane of races he has smote from existence. He devoured some and reforged others, sending them through the stars on a mission most sanctified. Once he brought terror to a billion billion sentients - now he rests, waiting while his dreams inspire those above."

"Hmm..." Hero figure fighting a dragon. That being the only part of the story. "Saint George and the Dragon?" He knew not the particulars, but it seemed simple enough. "Saint George saw there was a maiden getting sacrificed to a dragon, so he stabbed it with his lance, rescued her, then killed the dragon. Nobody of course knows if this is true or not, and it's a legend from the Dark Ages."

"The Dark Age of Technology?" The artificer perked up.

"No... The Dark Ages was the time after the Roman Empire fell. All their technology, all their knowledge was slowly destroyed and turned into naught but ruin by the primitives." How hilarious - the Imperium felt the same way, being built on the ruins of 'ancient' human civilization that had reached its zenith before plunging into the depths of rebellion and war."

"Your story sounds... correct." She nodded. "You know of the Emperor more than many did from your time - surprising. His touch is upon you - though you fail to realize the influence He has had in your life for so long." Turning to the artificer, she let out a tiring sigh. "My time here is done. A successor must replace me - and you are it." Before he could even respond, the glistening light in her eyes gushed out into him - the shell of ancient technology chipping away piece by piece as a new, nearly human face was revealed - filled with the glistening light. His body glistened, pulses of energy running up his arms and legs, a perfect blend of technology and organic material - he was like one of those beast machines.

"We will inform the Mechanicus of your new duties." She spoke as he remained stunned, the influx of the dragon's knowledge flowing into his mind. "I will go with him. I no longer have His blessing - thus I must make the best of my remaining days." Her eyes had dimmed, showcasing their unnatural green coloration, surprising to say the least. She turned to the millennial and gave a smile, moving to lead him back to the entrance of the giant room.

"Wait."

The former artificer - new Guardian of the Dragon - slumped over, in shock from a message he now had received. "He wants you to... receive his blessing. Step up to his wing."

The millennial turned back, then paused for a moment. Was doing the suggestion of a giant dragon creature made of quicksilver a good idea? Well, it certainly wasn't as bad as worshiping machines like minor deities. Stepping up, helm hanging from a handle on the back of his armor, he moved towards the Dragon of Mars, the mighty C'tan roaring once more as it lifted its wings.

And there he saw it. A mark. A wound. A residue of times past where the Emperor had inflicted the blow that had resulted in the beast's imprisonment here. "Your hands... bury them into his flesh." They were gauntleted - it didn't seem like that big of a deal, so he did as was requested, forcing his hands into the wound with the beast giving a merciless cry. A tingling feeling overcame his flesh as he held them in before slowly pulling them out.

His armor was changed. The silvery metal that was Necrodermis flowed through the patters engraved, accentuating them. A pad seemed to have formed on the side of the index fingers of the gauntlets, which led through a thin strand of the metal to a joint at the suit's elbow - an almost flat joint with a rotating blade. This was the weapon with unusual properties - what would finally give him the ability to harm daemons in ways that even his power maul could not. He pressed at the index fingers before finding that the blade, somewhat meshed with the shoulder plates, now slid downward like a switchblade, jutting at least a good six inches in length from the tip of his curled fists. Another press, and the metal returned to its previous position. The Officio Assassinorum would have questions about how he had acquired a Callidus tool...

With a nod, Drakon turned away as the former Guardian led him up the tunnel that had led him down here. Once they reached the end of the cave, she placed a hand on his shoulder somewhat cautiously. "I was known as Dalia Cythera before my blessing. Now I am her once again."

"Nice to meet you, Dalia..." He held out a hand, cautiously shaking it as the two returned to the transport that had initially taken him out here.

* * *

 _Deus Manus Space Port,_ _Mars, 1 901.999.M41_

They waited. They waited. Then they waited some more. Reri was supposed to have arrived with the Arvus Lighter by now... and from what they had shared together, it was unlike her to leave. He tugged the shoulder of a space port official. "Hey... There was an Arvus Lighter here, fully tricked out and shit. What happened to it?"

"The Dark Angels happened." The official responded somewhat fearfully. "They handed me a scroll signed by the Inquisitorial Representative himself, authorizing them to seize the vessel and take it back to their fortress-monastery for reasons unknown to me. Why, did you have something important on-"

He couldn't finish before the young man raised his Inquisitorial Rosette towards the nearest cogitator, overriding its security protocols as he moved to contact said Inquisitorial Representative. A hologram of Badasious formed before him as he fumed. "What's the big idea?"

"What do you mean?" The man who seemed familiar responded in a smooth tone as the millennial raised the scroll. "This... The fuck are you doing trying to steal my ship for the Dark Angels?"

"What are you talking about? I never signed that..." The silence was palpable as he pondered the situation over. "Someone has falsified my signature..."

"And there'll be hell to pay when I find who did this shit." He growled, shutting the hologram off. "Find me a ship. Any ship. I don't care who the fuck owns it. I want a ship to that fucking fortress-monastery so I can get my shit back."

"Um, uh..." The officer sputtered, rosette raised in his face. "Okay, there's an armed freighter run by a Rogue Trader named Kryptus at Dock 1337. Go!"

With a growl, the millennial and Dalia ran down the halls of the space port to the dock in question. Two Space Marines guarded the entryway in armor that looked somewhat familiar. "Let me through. Inquisitorial perogative."

"We don't answer to your kind, Inquisitor..." Began one as he raised his bolter, the door to the starship slowly opening as a familiar figure motioned for him to enter, the two Astartes following from behind.

"I expected that you would require transport, considering the Dark Angels' actions. Their interference in my plans is rather palpable - we cannot obtain absolution for our sins until that blade is recovered." He spoke. "Only then may we bask in His light once more free men, the burden of sin no longer upon us."

As they reached the bridge, the man turned around, and the millennial gasped in shock. He hasn't expected to see this man anytime soon - was it coincidence, or divine providence that reunited their paths once more?

"Cypher?"


	16. Chapter 18

_Armed Freighter Cryptic Retribution, in the Warp en route to the Rock, 3 905.999.M41_

"So." The millennial grimaced, his helmet resting on a table as he thought over the current situation. "How are we getting my ship back, and how are we stopping these fuckers from causing trouble for Reri?" Dalia stood nearby, twirling a pair of Infernus Pistols as she listened astutely, occasionally eying a Heretek walking past on the ship's command deck. The thought of people who had deviated from the doctrine of the Cult Mechanicus walking around freely somewhat set her on edge, but there appeared to be no Chaotic taint within them. Obviously the Fallen had been selective.

Cypher remained quiet, the pair of Fallen Angels standing next to him, silent bodyguards watching during the proceedings. "I have gathered quite a menagerie of those who have still clung true to the Emperor's will... The scorn of the Lion brought many into the irredeemable touch of Chaos. These three hundred on board are all that remain of the pure whom I could find." While some wore the armor of the Dark Angels, similar to the enigmatic Fallen's own, others were shrouded in dark brown armor, the Dark Angels emblem overlaid with that of a crowned lion, similar to the style of medieval heraldry.

"Well... Who are these guys?"

"They are all that remain from a chapter once known as the Lions Sable, who fought against the forces of Chaos entrenched upon the planets of the Cocytus system. Like us, they were scattered through the galaxy by the Warp Storm that consumed the planet - when those who fought against the madness of Chaos discovered survivors and brought them into our fold. They, like us, have been purged - to the rest of the galaxy, they no longer exist." Cypher spoke with sadness in his voice, not even turning around to eye those he was talking to.

"Sir, we've detected something on long range sensors." One of the hooded Astartes in power armor stated, manning his console.

"That's impossible... The tides of the Warp should be too strong for us to get readings of anything in here, let alone the blockage of the Gellar fields letting anything through." For once, he found himself extraordinarily surprised - perhaps it was the endgame.

"Nevertheless, we're detecting something within the Warp... Some sort of transmission." The helmsman leaned further over his console. "Imperial encryption... Astartes."

A corrupted mishmash of noise rushed through the the speakers, the distorted figure of a Space Marine wearing black armor forming. "To any[garbled], this is the[garbled]ruiser _Ophi_ [garbled]. We require imme[garbled]. Repeat, this[garbled] _dium Gulf_ requesting assi[garbled]."

"The _Ophidium Gulf_."

Out of the nebulous mass of shifting colors loomed what appeared to be the wreck of a starship - the wreck that was producing the bizarre transmission. Cypher turned to gaze out at it with a strange look on his face as the millennial stepped next to him, perking up. "If it's a vocalized distress beacon, maybe someone's still alive. Should we check it out?"

"Doubtful, and yet..." While the distress signal was almost certainly automated, the machine-spirit of the strike cruiser would have to have still been functional to ensure it was being sent. In the Warp, with the Gellar fields more than likely broken, it was likely someone would've been needed to ensure that the signal would remain active. "I suppose we do have an old friend of yours that could prove useful in determining whether there are any. If so... We will gladly welcome them aboard. I expect they too have a desire for vengeance against the Dark Angels." After all, he knew why the ship was here.

Cypher walked with the ancient human through the ship - the armed freighter had a hangar bay with several drop pods of varying types. One stood out amongst the rest, however, and the millennial immediately recognized it upon sight. "Where did you get it?"

"The Mechanicus were going to examine it before dismantling it for parts. As this is quite possibly the only one of its kind in the galaxy not corrupted by Chaos, I ensured it was not to be destroyed." Though it had been repainted in the same coloration as the colors of the Fallen, it was clear as to what it was.

 _++woof woof++_

The Dreadclaw waved one of its landing struts towards the millennial, as a mix of Lions Sable and Fallen moved to join Cypher and the two humans, slowly lining their way into the drop pod, the Fallen and the old human being the last group of those individuals who entered the relic. Shortly thereafter, it took off from the freighter's hangar, traveling at high speed towards the wreck. In no time at all it had secured itself to the _Ophidium Gulf's_ side, melta-cutters boring a hole through the ship's armor and allowing the passengers to enter the ruins.

There was damage everywhere. The small gouges of bolter shells and the scars of wanton chainsword damage were very visible in the halls and rooms of the strike cruiser, and every once in a while they came across the decaying skeleton of a man in Black Templars armor, mauled beyond belief by some unholy blade. If there had been a daemonic presence, though, it seemed to have long since disappeared - perhaps a sign that there was no life left in these halls. Until they came to a single door... the door to engineering, where the machine-spirit was located.

Within, they witnessed a horrifying sight - a Black Templar of relatively high rank, recently dead, blood gushing from his armor's torso - and what armor it was, mixed between a pair of Aquila and Corvus sets. His intestines and other internal organs were finding themselves devoured by a swarm of Furies, which were quickly dispatched by a crowd of bolter fire from the mix of Space Marines. Hurredly, a Lions Sable reactivated the machine-spirit, the Gellar fields initializing as some noise was heard in another hold.

A set of doors opened down the hall, cut open by a multi-melta as a group of a dozen disheveled Black Templars stepped out, covered in blood with their armor chipped and torn. Their leader, Castellan Raimer, stood a half-head taller than his battle-brothers, his armor equally mismashed with his squad's own, amix of components from armors of three or four different sets. The white shoulder plate of an Apothecary contrasted with the leg plates of a Techmarine - union came second to survival.

"You... You're Astartes! Praise the Emperor, I thought we were going to be trapped in the Warp forever thanks to those damned Dark Angels." The millennial stepped forward, lowering his head. "You are hardly a battle-brother, though... What are you doing with them?"

"Oh... Well, we're on the way to save a compatriot of mine from the Dark Angels, who kidnapped her and stole my ship, along with a priceless artifact inside that I need to give to the Emperor. This is-"

"You." Castellan raised his boltgun, pointing it towards Cypher. "If it were not for you, those Chaotic fiends would never have forced us to be relieved of our captive... And the Dark Angels would not have betrayed us."

"Calm your tits." The millennial pointed his Volkite Weapon at the Templar Master. "We all have a bone to pick with these dicks. They stole my stuff and my friend, hunted Cypher and his buddies down, left the Lions Sable to rot, and tried to blow you up. We have a freighter that should be able to help get your ship out of the Warp. It intact?"

"The... the readouts seem to indicate that there has been little decay. The vessel should be mostly functional."

"Alright." He nodded. "Then let's give em a tow so we can finally get our sweet, sweet revenge."

* * *

 _Caliban,_ _3 906.999.M41_

"There it is." The armed freighter and the Black Templars Strike Cruiser moved side by side towards the floating fortress-monastery. "What can you tell us about it, Cypher?" The millennial knew absolutely nothing about the Dark Angels, nor did he know about their secrets.

"It is all that remains of our homeworld of Caliban, shattered by the Warp Storm that sent us throughout time and space. The Dark Angels have weaponized it, shielded it and turned it into a mobile battlestation the likes of which have never been seen in the Imperium. Expect everything here. I doubt we will survive the encounter, but if we do - your mission is the same. You must deliver the Lion Sword to the Emperor as penance for our sins."

Cypher turned swiftly towards his fellow Angel descendants. "Men... You know what is ahead. To some, this may represent vengeance. A chance for retribution against the wrongs we have suffered. Do not view it as such. You were abandoned not thanks to their foolishness, but due to the Lion being incapable of accepting our sincerity. We will either die for the truth, or we will live men purged of our sins. Repent from your sins - for today, we die. For the Emperor!" The resounding cheers of the Astartes sounded throughout the vessel, those valiant souls on board the strike cruiser cheering as well as his short speech was made through hologram.

The Rock itself was alone, floating in the void of space where the planet once was. Its sensors immediately picked up the approaching craft - but before a hail was made, the Black Templars vessel fired its engines up, hurtling faster and faster towards the tremendous piece of planetary debris. Drop pods were jettisoned like boarding torpedoes as the craft hurtled straight into the Rock. "You have betrayed the virtues which the Emperor stands for. For this, there can be but one punishment. Now we stab at your accursed chapter, from the depths of the Warp - farewell." The drop pods found themselves in space, formed up with the armed freighter as the _Ophidium Gulf_ crashed headlong into the fortress-monastery.

The impact sent a shockwave throughout the area, battering the pods - but still the Rock stood. Void shields were overloaded across the station, and their systems were still rebooting from the massive power overload that had forced the machine-spirits on board into a state of shock. The armed freighter began to jettison its own pods as Cypher and the millennial rushed down to the hangar, leaving a skeleton crew on board as they got in the Dreadclaw in order to impact the Rock and begin the invasion.

"How long do you think the blast will keep things down?"

"Likely thirty minutes, if that. Whether we will survive to fight their inevitable reinforcements or not is another question entirely." The rockets of the ancient pod initialized as it exited the craft's hangar, the armed freighter taking advantage of the lull to fire upon the gun emplacements with its own rather meager weaponry. With luck, some of the turrets would be destroyed in order to give it a blind spot to reside in once the outer guns were once more enabled.

The Dreadclaw exited the hangar, getting into formation with other drop pods of various marks and variants, all heading straight towards the fortress-monastery of one of the most powerful and secretive chapters in the galaxy. Some of the pods had spare suits of armor in them - for intentional reasons. Cypher looked at the millennial before eying the other Fallen and Lions Sable. "Search through the cells once we come to them. If they have succumbed to Chaotic corruption, end their suffering. If they remain pure, free them and arm them as quickly as you can - we will need all the help we can get if it means we will retrieve the key to our retribution."

Through the void of space they flew, like a swarm of flies burgeoning towards a hunk of raw meat. This would be the end of the Fallen for good - or the harbinger of a new form of existence for the loyal renegades. One thing was for certain, regardless of the outcome...

The Dreadclaw would enjoy it.

 _++Woof!++_


	17. Chapter 19

_The Rock, Caliban,_ _3 906.999.M41_

The pods flew through the nonexistent void shields, their claws burying themselves inside the asteroid structure of the Dark Angels' fortress-monastery. The dog-spirited Dreadclaw that slammed into the metal-rich material comprising the crust of Caliban began to bore a hole inside, the mix of Fallen and Lions Sable flooding the halls they entered into. Any Dark Angel who attempted to raise a bolter against them found himself cut down by the roar of a chainsword, or blown to pieces by the miniature rockets that were bolter shells piercing through their power armor. The millennial himself eliminated a couple stray scouts before turning to Cypher. "What level are we on?"

"We hardly have even scratched the surface... A lift should be able to take us down to confession. From there, the secrets of the Dark Angels shall further be revealed." He turned to Castellan, the Templar Master checking to see how many of his men had survived the initial onslaught. "What are your plans, Master Raimer?"

"I intend to find that damned Chapter Master Azrael and rip his throat out for the treachery his men committed against us!" He growled, revving a well-worn chainsword in anger

"Keep calm and carry on, man." The millennial lowered his Serpenta, kicking the body of a scout to make sure it was dead. "Here's an idea. You take the Lions Sable with you to get revenge for being backstabbed and abandoned... Me, Cypher, and his bros will go and free Reri, not to mention get my ship and my sword back."

"Such is workable... What say you?"

"We can spare some of the Lions Sable, but not all - such is important, considering the inevitable levels of security we will face. Brute force will be necessary and... encouraged." He raised his bolter pistol and plasma pistol. "Down the hallway. We need to find a lift." The group of Fallen followed Cypher as most of the Angels' chapter followed the Black Templars in their quest for vengeance through The Rock.

Around the bend, they came across a quartet of white-armored figures, half unhelmeted, who raised a quartet of storm bolters towards the party. Several Fallen were downed by their fire before they retreated around the corner, the millennial's eyes gaping wide at the sight he had just seen. "WHAT THE FUCK WERE THOSE?"

"DEATHWING!" Cypher yelled over the sound of copious amounts of suppressive dakka, peering around a corner and firing his plasma pistol, hitting one of the Terminators in the arm but not taking him down."THE MOST ELITE OF THE ELITE! ALL FROM THE FIRST COMPANY!"

"DO WE HAVE ANY GRENADES?" The millennial yelled even louder, his ears ringing from the sound of all the bullets inching closer. A battle-brother obliged, handing him a krak grenade - he didn't care what it was as he pulled the pin and tossed it down the hallway blindly. An explosion and the sound of screams gave him the courage to turn around and snap-shoot several Volkite blasts down the hall. Cries of pain, in concert with the gurgle of at least one man's blood, indicated that the damage had been caused as they rushed down the corner. The krak grenade had scattered the Deathwings, the extremely close concussive force busting the brains of one of the unhelmeted ones. The other was sitting in the corner, right barrel of his storm bolter warped by snap-shots from the Serpenta. The two with helmets were on their backs, slowly trying to recover - one found it harder than the other due to Cypher's wound. Chainswords and power swords were used across the board as the renegades pounced on their foes, slashing and carving their downed bodies asunder with multiple whacks of their melee menagerie.

Well past the downed Terminators was a lift - a lift that led down, deeper into The Rock. One of the Fallen, a Techmarine, interfaced with a control panel using one of his servo-arms, the lift slowly ascending. Soon, it arrived on the floor, and all was well.

Well, if one excluded the Dreadnought that the lift had brought up. **"EVEN-IN-DEATH-I-STILL-SERVE!"** Its close combat weapons were raised as futile bolter fire merely scratched the outer ornamentation, them grasping a Lions Sable and scorching his unhelmeted head at extremely close range with integrated flamers. The screams as the Astarte flesh dripped down from the lifeless suit of armor were horrifying as the millennial attempted to get behind the beast. It... ran off a gas engine. It ran off. A _gasoline_ engine.

Breaking away from the rest of the party, the millennial raised his power maul, slamming it against a locked door and sending the metal flying. Inside was a small locked case that found itself broken open in order to reveal its contents... A bottle of what looked like vodka, and a letter.

 _Larean,_

 _This bottle is for you to keep, son. I know you'll probably forget all about me when you're too busy saving the galaxy from Chaos to write home, but when you have a major victory, drink it and think of us. Your father and I will always be very proud of you._

 _Your dearest mother,_

 _Katherine_

Well, that was certainly touching... Unfortunately, the millennial didn't need touching - he needed the bottle of alcohol. With his augmented fist, he crunched the top of the glass away, grabbing a wax-topped scroll of paper and stuffing it into the alcohol. Now he needed fire... Aiming the Volkite weapon, he pointed it at the very edge of what had once been a purity seal, pulling the trigger(sending a bolt of combustive flame into the Space Marine's bed) and lighting the edge on fire. Peering out, he saw that the Dreadnought was still engaged in a game of wanton slaughter with some of the more melee-inclined Fallen. There was only one shot he could get at this...

Rushing forward, as fast as the armor could take him, he raised the fully-charged power maul and slammed it down on the back of the mech, between its twin exhaust ports. A thin stream of promethium leaked from the back of the machine - would it be enough? Tossing it as fast as he could, the glass bottle easily shattered, flame of the vellum encompassing the pure alcohol that now burned blue-hot across the back of the Dreadnought. At first, the machine seemed to take little notice, turning around and attempting to grasp him, but as he stepped back, now cornered by the artificial monstrosity, it raised its arms, trying to claw behind it. A horrific metallic scream, reminding him of GlaDOS, came from the machine's vox-caster as it fell backwards, unable to now right itself as it spasmed, flames permeating into the interior compartment of the armored suit as the preserved pilot found himself slowly scorched alive by the flames.

Molotov cocktails were still effective after all.

They piled into the lift, when the millennial raised a question to Cypher: "So... does the Imperium use incendiary grenades? Maybe white phosphorous?" He shook his head. "But... But why?" One of the Fallen shrugged as they descended deeper into the fortress, closer to the secrets.

Closer to Reri.

* * *

 _Chambers of Penitence, The Rock,_ _3 906.999.M41_

They had made it to the chambers. The lift had taken them to one of the areas only Interrogator-Chaplains had ever been actively allowed to - the Chambers of Penitence. Here, screams arose from the room, the sound of many different Fallen, Chaos and not, being tormented by the Interrogator-Chaplains and their servitors.

"Kill those who bear the touch of Chaos. Arm those who remain free of corruption." He raised his bolt pistol, firing it through the breastplate of one of the torturers before storming further onward. With his plasma pistol, he melted the lock on a nearby cell and peered inside at its occupant, nearly driven to madness by his isolation and resistance to the torture he experienced. "Attias..." He brought the bolt pistol up to the man's head.

"C... Cypher..."

"Get up... We have a suit of armor ready for you." How the enigmatic Astartes could determine the lack of Chaotic corruption was intriguing - but Attias had a heart that was free from the touch of the Dark Gods. He had warned them of the trap his captors had attempted to use him as bait for - even fought by the Dark Angels' side to escape - and yet he was brought here. The reaper entered the next cell. "Machius..." The man within the cell looked equally downtrodden, but stood up with more vigor, ready to fight.

"You abandoned the faith of the Emperor to follow a heretic. For this, you will receive death." Raising the plasma pistol into the stunned Astartes' face, he fired, disintegrating the man's head. Punishment was for the wicked only - those who had willingly accepted Chaos into their fold.

"Reri!" The millennial cried out, noticing a cell at the very far of the room, near which stood the Impaler and falchion. With his power maul, he bashed against the lock, breaking the fragile mechanism and tearing the door asunder to see the Dark Eldar within. She was tired, wounded - he would've said 'emaciated,' but he had no knowledge of the Thirst she suffered - how she needed him as much for food as for company. Handing her the weapons left nearby - likely to not pollute the trophy case with their xenos taint - he looked up to find a very familiar relic sitting reverently on the far end of the room, directly under a massive emblem of stained glass.

The Lion Sword seemed relatively fine - but a purity seal had been attached to its handle. _For the day that our great founder and Primarch returns to provide forgiveness with its edge._ Struggling as hard as he could to lift the claymore, he half-heartedly tugged it along the ground. "Okay.. Got the sword. How do we get out of here?"

"We pray to the Emperor that He provides us with a way out." Attias quipped, power sword in hand as his suit of Crusade armor creaked with its age.

"Agreed. Such is the only way that we will survive this - with His blessing." Cypher twirled his pistols, aiming them at the door in preparation for the inevitable arrival of the wave of Dark Angels.

As he watched, the millennial felt a tug on his plate. Looking down, he spotted what appeared to be some sort of medieval Jawa. No eyes - but there was a soulless black void within. It turned, walking seemingly towards the wall of the room - before passing straight through it as though the material didn't exist. The millennial felt a strange urge to follow, the sword dragging across the floor as Reri moved to stop him, finding an armored hand on her shoulder. "The Watchers in the Dark know this place better than we. If they wish to show him the key to our salvation, we shall let them. For now, we have slaughter to tend to."

* * *

 _Hidden Area, The Rock, 6 907.999.M41_

"AND HE SHALL COME TO REDEEM US ALL! THE DAY OF THE LION IS AT HAND!" Insane babbling from a bearded man filled the hallway as he greedily eyed the sword the millennial dragged along with him. "I SHALL BE ABSOLVED OF MY DEEDS!" The ramblings of Luther were proving to be extra incoherent today, likely due to the presence of the valued artifact.

But the Watcher ignored him as he walked by, the ancient human following in a trance-like state, slowly but surely. His horrifying yells filled the walls as the Jawa-like figure went through a wall at the end of the hallway - the core of The Rock.

Sitting within a pod was a man, ten feet tall and adorned in armor covered in so much lion insignia that it would put the Chronicles of Narnia to shame. He was clearly resting, eyes closed, long blonde hair for a moment making the millennial wonder if he was some sort of space elf in disguise. The Watcher motioned to a slot in the side of the pod, thin and running the length of the entire capsule in question, where the frozen man slowly, with much effort, lifted the Lion Sword, slowly sliding it into place within the casket. The wraith-like entity pressed the jeweled button on the hilt of the power sword, its direct contact with an ancient archeotech crystalline matrix drawing energy away from the pod. The main inside slowly started to twitch, fingers moving and armor shifting before his brown eyes slowly opened, as though they had been frozen in their position for millennia. What the mortal didn't know of course was that such was exactly the case - he had been preserved here ever since the Lion and his mentor had torn their world apart.

As he sat up, the millennial stepped back. A lot. There were many things he could do - fighting a ten foot superhuman, bigger and stronger than anything he had ever seen before, even if he wasn't wearing a helmet. Looking around through his surroundings, his eyes locked with the human, only a little more than half as tall as he, armor and all. He opened his mouth, speaking with a voice that resonated throughout the chamber.

"How... long?"


	18. Chapter 20

_The Rock, Caliban,_ _3 906.999.M41_

"How... long?" It was such a simple question that the Primarch asked... and yet he was befuddled. The millennial knew nothing about the struggle between he and Luther, the mortal wounding that had sent the man into a stasis lasting ten millennia. All he knew was that there was a ten foot tall helmetless unarmed man in a suit of... Nope, he'd removed the Lion Sword, and a Watcher brought him a helm that had tremendous wings on it, which he swiftly mounted upon the top of his head.

"Well, according to the weird-ass dating system, it's 999.M41. Dunno if that helps." He quipped to the Lion, who seemed somewhat surprised. "Listen, I know you just woke up... but we kinda have an issue. Your guys are killing each other out there... Like, full-scale wanton slaughter. Some of them even tried to fucking kill me. You need to get out there and make them cut this shit out."

"...Who are you, and what are you doing in this fortress-monastery?" He turned, looking down upon the human who, even in armor, was a little over three-fifths the height of the genetically-engineered superhuman.

"...does it matter right now? Good people are dying. Just know that I'm one of the reasons your sword isn't a mangled mess of metal, alright?"

The Lion ignored him, bashing through the rock wall to the cheers of Luther and the cries of Astelan, the former rambling madly as the latter begged for penance. But for now, he ignored them, bursting through the rock at the far end of the sealed chamber. No more would the Sword of Secrets be used to access the room where the Son of the Forest had once reclined, waiting for his time, most direly needed - no more secrets within the chapter about the location of the most vile and villainous of Unforgiven, as Azrael had declared.

It was a horrific sight. A good deal of the Fallen and Lions Sable lay dead at the hands of more Deathwing Terminators, led by Azrael himself. The remainder were in the process of being forced into the cells. Reri, Cypher, and Attias found themselves cornered, refusing to give up their weapons... when they locked eyes. The enigma that was the ancient Astartes eyed the Primarch he had once loyally served before falling from grace.

"Father." He said in a low voice. For while he was no biological son of Lion El'Jonson, all Astartes from the original Dark Angels legion were sons of their Primarch, drawn from the purest batch of their legion's gene-seed.

"All of you have shamed us." He stared at Azrael. "You attempt to shroud our legacy through deceit and treachery towards our fellow battle-brothers - those descended from the ones we fought by the side of when I last roamed the galaxy." He turned to Cypher and the remaining Fallen. "And you... you accepted the words of a man that Chaos had befuddled as to the truth."

But what was that truth? Silence would pervade the room before the legitimacy of what had happened found itself uttered by the firstborn Primarch.

"Luther was not corrupted by Chaos in his indecision." He stated silently, gasps from some of the Dark Angels accompanying the Terminators audibly echoing throughout the room. "He was, however, manipulated into his rebellion by the foul forces of Chaos... who desired that another legion should fall to their tainted touch." And it had nearly worked. The Dark Angels had nearly destroyed themselves through the Battle of Caliban thanks to the manipulation of the Chaos Gods - more tools for use by the pernicious deities in their grand schemes of domination. "They have received my absolution, those who have remained true to the Emperor's light throughout these many years. For those who have fallen to Chaos, however... they deserve only death."

He stayed silent before overseeing the Lions Sable and Fallen who were still alive, their heads bowed towards him in reverence. "For their loyalty... The chapter of the Lions Sable shall be rebuilt from those who chose to remain steadfast in their acceptance of the Emperor. Their recruiting world shall be returned to them, and those other chapters spawned from my legion shall provide them with a tithe of their weapons and armor. They shall select those from the chapters that they wish to join them until they number a thousand strong, at which point they shall no longer rely upon their brethren for aid. No longer shall they be Fallen Angels. No longer shall they be Lions Sable - for today, they are now the Lions Viridian."

Turning back to the block of cells he had broken through, he turned, motioning for the millennial, Reri, and Cypher to come with him as he stood before the capsule that housed Merir Astelan - a former Chapter Master of the legion, repentant and a servant of the Emperor to the last - and one of those most confused by the touch of Chaos. With a mighty blow, the capsule's exterior was shattered by the fist of Lion El'Jonson, the Astartes able to breathe a breath of true, non-temporally-frozen air for the first time. He said nothing, merely looking at the brown eyes of his Primarch with a face that expressed what could only be explained as the purest manifestation of regret the millennial had ever seen. He did not cry, he did not show any such emotion... He merely turned away once whatever emotional message had been sent between the two, moving to stand next to Cypher as the moment all had been waiting for finally arrived.

He stared into the face of his mentor. This had been the man who raised him, who civilized him as a knight of The Order to make Caliban a world free of mutation, free of the abominable Chaotic beasts that had filled Caliban. This had been the man who had loyally served by the side of his Primarch, despite his lack of the true Astartes augmentations - his devotion to Caliban's cause was so great that he had still been respected by those Astartes of the first legion. And this had been the man who had fallen for the lure that the Chaos Gods had placed before him, a falsehood of exceptional deceit that had ruined the world of the Dark Angels - and any shred of sanity that Luther had held.

"You were like a father to me, Luther." He stared at his former friend - there was no insanity, no madness in his eyes. Only a focus that had never been seen in all the years of interrogation the Supreme Grand Masters had ever put him through. "Before my true father came, you were all I had to view as a paragon of humanity." Such had indeed been true - though still, no words came from the Fallen Angel, his focus still absolute. "You receive my absolution for your actions. And yet, you will never be able to accept it - Chaos has failed to consume you, therefore it has broken your mind." Slowly, the Primarch raised the Lion Sword, in preparation for the final swing, when for the only time in ten millennia, Luther spoke with the last fragment of composure, the final shard of his sanity he had held onto in the event that this day had ever come - the words that would be his last.

"I... am sorry. Forgive me as I... as I once was."

With those final words, the head of the arch-traitor fell, his body loosely leaning against the wall of the stasis capsule as the head rolled away. It was finished - there was nothing that could be brought up in dispute over the now-Angels Viridian anymore. It was up to them to organize the reformed chapter and once more take their place as defenders of the Imperium, servants of the Emperor of Mankind. And yet, the only known living Primarch was alive - would the repercussions of this prove to be beneficial, or lacking?

Things had changed. For the better or for the worse, one would hardly know.

* * *

 _Armed Freighter Cryptic Retribution, in the Warp en route to Holy Terra, 2 917.999.M41_

He was the reason, was he not?

That sword. His companion had been kidnapped whilst Dalia had been brought into his little party - and many men had died all to get the blade to Lion El'Jonson. The Angels Viridian, while newfound allies, were a broken chapter who would take years if not decades to be brought up to combat strength. The assistance the first Primarch had proclaimed would certainly speed up the growth process - but it would still be a long amount of time before they could be beneficial.

And time was something that the millennial felt he didn't have. He was nothing more than a standard human being - there was nothing particularly special about him. Though he had cybernetic implants, and was a young man, even he would expire - from old age or disease, most likely. Such was why he found himself in quiet contemplation on board the bridge of the armed freighter lent to him by the chapter of Space Marines. Cypher had no need of the Rogue Trader persona now that he was busy with his new position as the captain of the Lions Viridian's 1st Company. Thus the crew of Hereteks remained on board, watched over by Dalia Cythera ardently for any signs of true Chaotic corruption within the work they did.

A soft hand rested upon his shoulder - it was Reri. She cracked a bit of a smile as he continued to stare off into the blackened void of space. Only now the shock of what he had done impacted his spirit, his soul heavy with the burden of death upon his heart. "So this is how it feels to lose men under your command." He had hardly come from a military family - none of his relatives had seen service in any branch whatsoever. He had met officers who had lost men and women in the line of duty, but never before could he empathize with them and the regret they felt for what was irredeemably lost, never to be recovered.

"We view it more often than not as getting rid of potential usurpers." She looked out, wondering what specifically had grabbed his focus. "You are very surprising, for a mon'keigh. Your perception of things seems to be far different from your fellow humans. Why is that?"

"Well... In the noble brightness of the far past, there was only peace... In a manner of speaking. Every facet of my life was never dedicated to war, to the ambitious expansion of some great human empire. We were doing pretty good considering today's standards..." He sighed. "Sadly, my people nowadays seem to have enough religious fanaticism towards this Emperor guy that they put ISIS to shame. Not to mention the maddening breakage of any ethics in science - innovation is apparently heretical, so all we do is stagnate and hope we find new STC computer printer thingies."

She nodded, looking closer at him as her smile became less friendly-looking and more sadistic in approach. "You know... Right about now would be an excellent time for us to head back to our cabins, rest, relax... enjoy our victory." He blushed, shuddering a bit as an aftereffect from the results of their first coupling.

"I'd love to... but I kinda have some meetings with peeps on Terra once we get there. Got the checklist and everything... Who to visit next..." The Ecclesiarch, the Master of the Astronomican, the Grand Master of those assassin temples, Captain General of the Custodes, the Lord Commander of the Segmentum Solar, and the Master of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica were all possible choices - and he did need to make a decision between them.

A hard choice. Maybe he'd 1d6 it to make a decision, if those sorts of things still existed in this day and age.


	19. Chapter 21

_Scholastia Psykana, Holy Terra, 0 919.999.M41_

Psykers. Something that most certainly had not existed during his existence. From what he knew, they were some sort of mutant gifted with superpowers like telepathy, telekinesis, and the ability to shoot lightning from their fingers, along with other seemingly magical abilities. It almost made him wonder whether the legends of medieval sorcerers and wizards had a basis in these sorts of mutants. If that was the case, though... why did such stories die down? Certainly with the worldwide spread of information, individuals possessing the power of the psyker would've been heard of around the world. Perhaps those 'superhuman' individuals of his day were psykers - or perhaps there were too many plastic shamans to find the real deal.

Nonetheless, the Master of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica had invited him to visit the Scholastia Psykana - the location where all Imperial psykers were trained. The building in question seemed most similar to the other grandiose palace-like structures he had seen scattered across the world - but in the courtyard, in the middle of what he assumed to have once been a fountain, stood a giant staff-like structure that ended in the golden aquila, which seemed to be some sort of magic staff built in commemoration of the school's founding. Surprising considering what he expected to find inside - he thought a giant X would've suited the place better as a monument.

Upon his entrance to the building, he found himself alone in what appeared to be the lobby of what seemed very much a military-esque location. The woman at the front desk had very pale skin and a brown pixie cut, hair very boyish as she raised an eyebrow towards the certainly out-of-place man in battered carapace armor. "And you are here for?"

"The head of the AAT invited me to take a look at how you train psykers and whatnot." He reached for his rosette, only to find that he had left it on board the _Cryptic Retribution_. "Uh, if this is a bad time..."

She said nothing as a quartet of psykers seemingly appeared from nowhere - evidently these were the gate guard. He raised up his hands peacefully, trying to defuse the situation, only to find himself lifted off the ground and slammed back-first into the concrete wall. "Fuck!" was all he could say as he fell forward from the minor indentation, on his hands and knees as one of the other psykers reached down to tear his helmet off, pressing her thumb and middle finger to his temples. He felt a horrendous intrusion, a violation of his most sacred space within the corners of his mind - the shock was almost too much to bear until he began to think about some pretty nasty things. Their repulsive nature overwhelmed whatever it was she had been attempting to acquire from within his cranium, and she staggered back.

 **"Enough,"** rang a voice that reverberated throughout the entirety of the room, an invisible echo recoiling across walls and floors that soon returned to its source - a pale man, wrinkled forehead fraught with wires connected to metal plates seemingly pressed into his skull. **"I apologize for their response, quick as it was - but your presence is as familiar as it was when we first met at the Senate."** This seemed perfectly normal except for the fact that his lips never once moved.

"Yeah... you're not too hard to miss yourself." He nodded. "So, how does this entire thing work?"

 **"Follow me and I shall show you."** He didn't even move - the AAT Master simply hovered over the floor, through a set of doors with no apparent entry method. Apparently the powers-that-be had changed from being able to be run forever and stick metal objects on their skin to blasting people into walls and mind-rape. A... certain improvement in potency.

 **"Through our consistent usage of the League of Blackships, we have managed to consistently accrue the necessary psykers to ensure the functioning of the Imperium."** The psyker quipped, continuing with his floating and not even turning his head. It was like he was some sort of omniscient presence, intentionally formless. **"Without psykers, the Imperium would never be able to exist."**

"And how does-"

 **"The League of Blackships regularly visit planets on scheduled time intervals. A tenth of the planet's psychic population is taken back here to Terra for training. Those with promise become Primaris or Wyrdbane psykers, trained for battle. The youngest who are capable of undergoing the harsh process become Librarians as part of the various Space Marine chapters. Those less innately skilled become astropaths, capable of sending psychic messages through the Warp between planets as a speed faster than any other form of communication."**

"But how d-"

 **"The Assignment is utilized to determine what sort of psychic capabilities the individuals have, from a range of Rho to Alpha-Pius."** His mind-reading was becoming a bit eerie. **"Rho-ranked individuals have no ability to manipulate the power of the Immaterium, and comprise the majority of humanity. On the other end of the spectrum, an Alpha-Pius individual wields exceeding power far beyond that of almost all humans - he can snap a Titan in two with but a thought, dominate minds and tear the Immaterium asunder with a motion of his hand."**

"Are y-"

 **"You are Omicron. A very, very minor amount of psionic brain activity is what I can sense. Enough to be considered 'good luck' or a 'fluke' occasionally, but not to wield any sort of real psionic power."**

"An-"

 **"Yes, I will show you our training facilities."** He was especially befuddled now, agitated beyond a shadow of a doubt at the man's foresight as the two went through another pair of doors into the main training room. Within were a large quantity of students, none of whom could've possibly been older than seventeen. They all looked like middle and high school students, some sitting in circles, practicing their abilities, others meditating alone in whatever free space they could find. All were silently watched over by bald and balding men in elaborate robes, all of whom carried large staves to channel Warp energy.

"They're... so young." He paused, particularly shocked by their state - they were all wearing grey jumpsuits made of an unknown material, their hair buzzed down to a coarse, stubble-like cut, male or female. Many of them looked to have minimal emotion to showcase - this was their life, and had been for a long time. "It seems almost wrong for them to be like this."

 **"Imperial decree is that those who showcase a level of blatantly controlled psychic power are to be brought to the Scholastia Psykana for training, to protect their minds from the Warp so that they may serve on the battlefield - or as Astropaths in the great choirs. Those who cannot manage their powers, or who are too weak, shall find themselves supplying their power for the Astronomican."**

"And how does-"

 **"I would rather the Master of the Astronomican explain the process to you."** For the first time, a glimpse of emotion in his face could be seen - one of somber regret. **"Regardless, would you like a demonstration of the many capabilities that Imperial psykers may have?"**

"Sounds like a plan to me." Though he had gotten off on the wrong foot(well, technically gotten off on all feet), he was still eager to see just what exactly the new baseline form of humanity would look like many thousands of years from now. An eclectic mix of students were brought before him - two blonde(a guy and girl), a brunette, a young man with blue-black hair, and a redheaded girl with freckles, the youngest of the lot.

 **"Ethaniel, please demonstrate your capabilities."**

The sixteen year old blonde psyker nodded before extricating a small scalpel, running it across his middle arm to open up a wound that found itself bleeding rather heavily. The millennial was about to call for a medic when, through magic, the wound slowly but surely sealed itself up, disappearing and leaving no trace that the skin had previously been damaged aside from blood around the site of the cut. With that, he stepped away.

 **"Yunis, you are next."**

The brunette, who had to have been no older than fourteen, closed her eyes, raising her hands and motioning them towards a table upon which some simple geometric shapes had been placed. In a flash, the shapes - and the table - found themselves lifted up through the use of the unseen powers of the Warp, moved over to her location to where a metal cube itself lifted off the table, levitating in front of the millennial, who grabbed it before tossing it back towards the floating table, upon which it landed perfectly due to psychic meddling. Yunis gave a bow before returning to her duties.

 **"Claire."** He motioned to the redhead, fifteen years old - barely old enough to drive a car back in his day and age, and here they had her dabbling with powers beyond the understanding of most men. Raising a hand in front of her face, she blew upon it with all of her might, a tremendous gout of flame rushing from her palm that soon scorched the table Elizabeth had previously lifted. She smiled, seemingly impressed by her actions before walking off to do whatever it was she had next on her list.

 **"Meridin?"** He snapped at the blue-black-haired boy who seemed to stare off into the distance for a bit before nodding in response.

"Yes, Master?" His tone was far weaker and less overwhelming than that of the AAT Master, but still particularly impressive considering his seventeen years of age. The millennial was thankful that such superhero-like abilities only began to exist in humanity now. No one would've been able to draw the parallels between fictitious heroes in comic books and those real individuals with bizarre, strange, and unnatural powers. Perhaps it was actually a bad thing - now there was no way for these sorts of people to relate to another parallel, thus they became the outcasts of their time.

 **"Well done... And lastly, Psera, please, what word do you have for our guest?"**

The blonde girl was the youngest of all - not even a teenager, merely an ordinary little girl who looked up at the ancient human with ice blue eyes, speaking in a voice with knowledge far beyond her years. "You will deal with much trial and tribulation. What will you lose of yourself for the betterment of humanity? Woe be to the one who must fall so that others may rise. There are two roads, most distant from each other: the one leading to freedom, the other to slavery, which mortals must shun. It is possible to travel the one through manliness and lovely accord; so lead them to this path. The other they reach through hateful strife and cowardly destruction; so shun it most of all."

Her utterance was... surprising, to say the least. The millennial simply nodded as she walked away, unsure of how to best take these events. "Well... Thank you very much for the tour."

 **"My pleasure. Should you require the services of psykers in your endeavours, please let us know so that we may best assist you."** Perhaps now was the time to further advance a part of his agenda.

"Well... The Angels Viridian Space Marine chapter are running rather low on men right now. Is there any chance they could potentially have 'preferred selection' on new Librarians?"

 **"I cannot promise anything, but I will see what I can do to assist their regrowth."** If they were able to get more Librarians, great. If not, well... They would be no worse off than they were currently. Turning around, he silently walked out the door of the building to the lobby, and as he did so, a single thought resonated in his mind, one above everything else that he had just seen regarding the treatment of young human beings in such a manner.

 _What have they done?_


	20. Chapter 22

_Museum of Imperial_ History, _Holy Terra, 0 924.999.M41_

They say that life is worth living for the experience... and the millennial had certainly experienced much during his time awake in this dystopian time period. But the more and more he saw what the modern world had to offer, the more disturbed he grew. Yes, humanity was arguably more technologically advanced in many facets. Advanced prosthetics, gene-therapy, powered armor built en masse... and yet to build these things, humanity had lost itself a hundred times over. Their religious devotion had exploded to a degree of full-blown narcissism, their devotion to the Emperor of Mankind(a real human being) further disgusting the ancient human. For all he had been attributed with, he was not invincible. He was not all-powerful, nor was he omniscient - more in the realm of a legendary 'half-divine' or 'demigod' from Greco-Roman myth.

But humanity had not descended to such a low level specifically... Mankind had, to make things even worse, regressed technologically. The stagnation of the tech-priests known as the Adeptus Mechanicus(combined with their declaration of innovation as 'tech-heresy') left humanity no better off than it had been in his time, with regards to many facets of what he had seen military-wise. Chainswords were just chainsaws with a smaller power supply. Power armor existed when he wasn't even frozen. Autoguns and stubbers were almost identical to many weapons from his time. And lasguns... According to rumor, they were only as powerful as a handheld laser pointer from his day and age.

The Museum of Imperial History had, however, lost him the most faith in humanity. Inside, within one of the display cases, was a small chip of what looked like gold. It was incredulously small, barely distinguishable as to what it was or where it came from. The plaque displayed it as a fragment of the Emperor's power armor that he wore during his confrontation with Horus, and well before then. A group of schoolchildren holding plastic toy weapons, some even dressed in boxes mimicking the armor of Astartes, eyed the relic in awe, and the teacher led the entire class in bowing - _bowing_ \- before the object, as though it wielded some sort of incredulous power. It was at that moment that he realized his species was teetering on the brink of complete and utter destruction. Were they allowed to continue this, mankind would fall, and humanity would become extinct.

But for now, he was simply content enjoying a meal at the museum's cafe. It was a sandwich - a light and fluffy croissant-like roll for a bun, with slices of a delicious meat and cheese combination within. From the first bite, he found himself enraptured by such a simple little meal, one that, for a moment, took him away from the harsh realities of of the war-torn galaxy. He sipped his drink - some sort of clear soft drink with a light citrus flavor - and immediately froze, feeling something unusual beginning to pass over him. A hand was on his shoulder... then nothing.

He did not see the woman exiting out the back of the museum. He did not see the man in morgue clothes dragging his body away to an unspecified spot. And he certainly did not see the man turn into a woman thanks to her shapeshifting polymorphine, dragging her prey into the underhive.

If he only knew where he would first end up.

* * *

 _Callidus Temple, Holy Terra, 0 925.999.M41_

He awoke on the floor, eyes fuzzy. Cautiously he ran his hands over his body, trying to ensure that everything he previously had was still there - yes, it was... but not on him. He found himself bare, the metal plates comprising his torso shining from an unseen light source as the silvery Necrodermis covering his hands also glistened as he stood up, trying his best to get his clothes on in order to maintain some sort of decency. As he did so, he couldn't help the feeling that he was being watched.

And watched he was. The more his eyes cleared up, the more he saw pairs of them staring back at him, hidden in the deep blackness of the room. They were solid white, glowing nefariously at him as he looked for something, anything, to brighten the room. Once he had put his clothes back on, lights flickered on, revealing a massive plethora of women wearing full-body suits made of a PVC-like material that seemed to cling to their flesh. Each had a tremendously long ponytail, a sword gauntlet on their right hand and a strange gun held in their left. No emotion was shown - nothing at all as they continued to stare at him until a voice rang out: "Enough."

It was from a woman, who wore a body-hugging black leotard. Around her waist was a belt, and upon each hip were two small weapons - needler pistols. Clearly she was the leader of this bunch. Stepping forward, she eyed the man in question before nodding. "You have come here to visit the Assassin temples, I would assume." She was seemingly the leader of this bunch - though whether or not she was the Grand Master of Assassins, he was unsure.

"You seem to have changed much from our previous encounter." Yep, she was the same person... but how?

"Um... are you a double or something? The Grand Master I saw was a tall, balding man." In response, she focused, the polymorphine in her body slowly remolding her form to that of the man in question. He said nothing, only watching as she shifted back to her original form - but now he couldn't tell whether that was really who she was.

"Polymorphine. The shapeshifting drug of we Callidus assassins. Females are chosen because their bodies more adequately can adapt to its use. Such is as simple as I can explain it." She stayed quiet, and even from this distance he knew that she could kill him without a second thought. As she motioned for him to follow her, he remained quiet. "We had to retrieve you in this manner because despite the... acceptance that the other High Lords have shown, we are not so easily made trustworthy. I cannot risk you revealing the locations of the temples to those who would attempt to do us harm, not even unwillingly."

Stepping through into another room, he immediately noticed a tunnel, or rather a series of tunnels, all of which seemed to be connected together in a monstrous maze. "The temples of the Officio Assassinorum are connected through these underground tunnels, allowing for quick transport of resources and information through a clandestine, foolproof method. None know of where the entrances and exits to these places are - and none ever will." A black hovercar pulled up automatically, doors opening as she slid into the driver's seat. "Get in. We'll be visiting the Culexus temple next. Prepare yourself for... extreme acceleration."

Getting into the vehicle, he expected a relatively simple drive - what he got was the feeling of violent acceleration down the tunnel, like a projectile in a railgun. There was some sort of dampener to make it relatively tolerable, but the crunch was awful, like pulling nearly eight Gs on a rollercoaster's acceleration. When they finally stopped, he stepped out of the hovercar and, in a display of vulnerability, vomited up that sandwich he had eaten sometime beforehand. The Callidus assassin ignored the display of unsettlement before stepping towards him. "You may feel a sense of discomfort. Culexus Assassins do generate such a field, being Pariahs and all..."

"...Pariahs?"

"Omegas. Pariahs. Blanks. They have no presence in the Warp - in fact, they produce a coalescent bubble of anti-warp, where anything inside from the Immaterium cannot exist. They are perfect against psykers, as well as daemons, sending the latter back to their infernal realm. They wear a device known as the Animus Speculum, an arcane piece of technology designed to drain the very souls from individuals and store their essence for use against psykers, who are especially vulnerable to the weapon."

The further they stepped into the area, the more a foreboding feeling seemed to smother the very air around them. Stronger and stronger it got, until they came across the source - a male Culexus assassin, tending to his duties. He turned around, and despite being so ruthless, spoke in a friendly voice. "Welcome to the temple... I assume you to be that millennial everyone has been talking about."

"Um..." He tried extremely hard to not be denigrating or otherwise freaked out by the man in front, but he couldn't help but feel uneasy. The very presence of the guy disturbed him. "Yeah, that's me." It was like when you were looking at a creepy old guy standing in front of an unmarked white van. It was horrifying... "So, um... That's a nice... skull... helmet thing... you have." He tried his best to resist, only managing to poke out a single halting compliment before the urge to be a despot overwhelmed him.

"Thank you... I ensure that the machine-spirit is consistently maintained and prepared for conflict at the soonest opportunity." He turned to the Callidus. "Are there any updates regarding our recent focus?"

"Indeed." She spoke with disgust in her voice. She knew more about the predispositions of Blanks - not to mention the Necron interest in them. Their conversion of such people into Necron Pariahs was disturbing on so many levels, both as inhumane forms of brainwashing and a terribly lethal weapon against the Imperium. "Perhaps he may be of assistance to us on this mission." She looked up to the millennial, who was now very confused.

"Um... what?" Intelligence had only taken him so far. His encounter with the Bloodletter in the Death Cult's lair had proven that to him. His reaction seemed only to irritate the Callidus more as she turned away, once again motioning for him to follow.

"There is a dark secret within the Officio Assassinorum. A secret of such great proportions that it would cause tremendous harm if revealed." She began. "Over a millennium ago, a group of Assassinorum members banded together to create the perfect weapon, an assassin capable of killing whoever was there with whatever was available. Thus was born the Maerorus temple. Their test subjects were horrifically mutated, infused with xenos DNA, until one was successful - she was known as Legienstrasse. Her overwhelming independence led her to revolt against the will of the God-Emperor, and as a result, the temples were forced to hunt her down."

"But that wasn't the end of it. Legienstrasse was able to lay eggs, eggs which could grow into creatures like herself, twisted abominations, wanton killing machines living only to destroy. We have tracked one of her spawn to an abhuman camp on Alpha Centauri and are preparing a party of assassins to travel there and dispose of the monster..." She turned away once more, seemingly enjoying keeping him away from her visuals. "...but the _Divine Right_ got there before us. We believe there is a chance, however minor, that the Maerorus has escaped on board the warship. If you would be so kind as to check things out, we would greatly appreciate it." There had to be some other sort of motivation behind her blatant attempt to get him to do her dirty work - but if there was such, it was sparsely visible.

"Your record so far speaks for itself. You defeated a Great Unclean One and two Chaos Champions, and smashed the face of a Bloodletter in. Your actions are more than impressive enough for you to accompany us on this - perhaps an older form of mindset may be needed when dealing with this sort of foe. Our losses when fighting to kill Legienstrasse were tremendous. Many assassins died, including a large number of Imperial Fists Astartes, Terminators, an Eversor, the Vindicare and Culexus Grand Masters, and nearly the Emperor's Champion of the Imperial Fists."

"Well... Sure. I'd love another chance to end my existence as soon as I can." He sighed, wondering if this, and finally this, would be what was needed in order to liberate himself from the living hell he now existed in. Then again, with his luck...

All sorts of things could go horribly, horribly wrong.


	21. Chapter 23

_Eversor Assassin Temple_ , _Holy Terra, 0 924.999.M41_

Another hurtle underneath the planet of Terra had resulted in another stain of vomit on the concrete floor of the landing bay as the Callidus that was Grand Master of Assassins escorted the violently ill millennial into the Eversor temple. Unlike the others, there didn't seem to really be any sort of assassin presence - only the cyborg entities known as Servitors that scuttled throughout the facility.

Then he saw why.

Rows. Rows upon rows of stasis pods, filled with a green gellular substance that preserved humans in some of the most horrendous states he had ever seen. Many were missing arms and legs to various degrees, some having barbaric-looking cybernetic augmentations that looked sickeningly gruesome.. Many seemed to have copious amounts of damage to their faces or torsos - curled into the fetal position, looking like the rage-fueled undead of his time's horror films. He stopped in front of one pod in order to examine the information about the occupant, and what he saw horrified him.

 _++Unit #4432 service life: 3 years. Number of Sorties: 260. Estimated enemy deaths caused: 8,512.++_

Truly the individual within the pod was a monster. The millennial could only imagine the depths of insane ferocity that had to flow through whatever mind the Eversor still had left. #4432 had copious quantities of cybernetic implants and limb replacements as well, and the damage record showed it.

 _++Damage reports: 7 crushed thoracic vertebrae, amputated left arm, 57 stubber and lasgun wounds, 3 cardiac arrests, 175 of 206 bones broken to various degrees of severity...++_

 _++Biological age: 12 Terran Years++_

How? How could someone take a... a not even teenager and turn them into _this_? He felt violently sick, and upchucked the last of what he could evacuate from his stomach onto the thick glass of the Eversor's capsule, stumbling back. If the service life was three years, then that meant... That meant that he was nine years old when he was turned into this, this thing.

"Eversors are the most murderous, the most lethal of all the Emperor's assassins. Filled with combat drugs, durable beyond belief... I once saw an Eversor who got flung from a two hundred foot building spire onto a twisted metal beam. It speared through him, but he pulled himself off of it and killed his target. Though his mind was gone, his devotion to the Emperor remained... A valiant effort, though he was unable to be saved. The explosion ensured his target was eliminated." She looked at him as he continued to stare at #4432's capsule, the shock on his face as he heard of the new level of depravity that the Imperium had reached. This... this was truly unacceptable. Even as the grey-haired Callidus tugged at his shoulder, he was still frozen in place, unable to move or even react to her grasp of his shoulder. Slowly, her hand lowered down his arm, grasping his palm and giving it a squeeze, partially bringing him back to the somber reality as he turned and followed her back to the car. He was unsure of what to say anymore, or how to react to every violation of the laws of ethics he had intentionally done his best to see preserved.

But perhaps it truly was too little, too late.

* * *

 _Vindicare Assassin Temple, Holy Terra, 0 925.999.M41  
_

With the arrival at the Vindicare den, the millennial had nothing he could say - let alone upchuck. His stomach was so empty, he doubted there was any acid in there. Still, the sudden deceleration stunned him immensely beyond belief, and he wobbled a bit before standing up on his own, following the Callidus down the hallway leading to the place's entrance.

Lined along the walls were two rows. On the top row, or rack, rather, were rifles. They were massive rifles, at least the size of a musket in length, but all were very modern and high tech-looking. The bottom row was of pistols that generally resembled the rifle in overall form and function. Some of the rifles and pistols appeared to be checked out of service, and the occasional shot of extremely loud gunfire rang through the halls of the temple.

The two caught up to a woman who had her Exitus pistol seemingly aimed at a wall. The moment before pausing to tap her on her shoulder, she fired, and the small bullet went directly over the shoulder of the once frozen human. It grazed the slight outside layer of fabric of his shirt, igniting the cotton-like material which he feverishly attempted to pat down before dropping and rolling, the small blaze soon extinguished - though the remnants of burned fabric did mark some of his shoulder.

"This is Vindicare Assassin cognomen-designate LIXI. If you are not familiar with High Gothic numerals, she is designated Unit 59:1." The woman simply nodded, choosing to not further elaborate upon herself... but from the designation, the millennial knew that from this day onwards, she would always be Lixi in his terminology.

"Well, Lixi... that was a pretty damn impressive shot. No mirrors or anything... What's your secret?"

"Commanding asset will explain, tertiary asset." She spoke in a very mechanical voice, seemingly garbled by her helmet intentionally as she returned to fiddling with her weapon, adjusting it in ways he could never expect.

"She talks very formally, I apologize... Vindicares are the most skilled marksmen in the Imperium by far. They are augmented and trained to kill enemies from a distance unmatched by anyone. A single Vindicare on a hilltop can kill enemies from miles away with the Exitus rifle. Its wide variety of ammunition means that even armored vehicles are no match." Well, that certainly sounded fun - a rifle that could fuck anything and everything up, no matter how big.

"Commanding asset, primary target has escaped from our recent attempt to acquire him." The Callidus grimaced as the millennial raised a eyebrow.

"That egg-mutant thingie?"

"Worse." She grimaced. "I've had LIXI on the hunt, in concert with the Varus temple, for the rogue Vindicare known as LIIVI. We expected to have cornered him... but apparently he seems to have disappeared once more.

"The Varus?"

"Yes... We will not be visiting their temple. All they do is gather information and use it to kill the Emperor's enemies without any physical involvement whatsoever. They stay behind cogitators all day..." They were essentially the successors to Anonymous? Seemed legit. "There are the Venenum assassins as well... Master poisoncrafters. One of them was responsible for your incapacitation." A woman in a gas mask-like suit walked past, nodding. "Now that you know of the temples in question... you may go."

"Fuck, not again..." He slumped forward, finding himself to be somewhat weakened. Though he struggled to stay awake, the poison soon overwhelmed his system, leaving him in a state of unconsciousness once more.

* * *

 _Spaceport, Holy Terra, 927.999.M41_

 _Wake up..._ The words rang through his head as he slowly lifted himself off the concrete he had evidently been left on. Looking up, he saw who the voice had come from - Dalia Cythera herself. Her robes seemed a bit drab, the little color in them sucked out by the dreary atmosphere of the underhive he had been left in. Not to mention he was hungry.

"Fuck, my shoulder..." She placed his arm over her own and swiftly, with seemingly no effort, helped him back onto his feet. "Alright... Let's get back to the ship. The two would limp along before soon returning back to his Arvus Lighter, Reri waiting impatiently for him upon his return.

"You know, for a mon'keigh who fights well, you seem to suffer the most pain out of battle." Her claw-like nails grazed over his back as he gave a soft sigh.

"All he knew was humanity." Dalia piped up, the circuit pathways embedded in her flesh glimmering and pulsating for a reason neither of the two would ever understand. "He likely wishes he could return to when that was all he knew, when he was not forced to deal with the perpetual persistence of war that fills the Imperium. Perhaps he fears that in his travels, all he has done has forged him into something inhuman, a mockery of what he once was." The millennial stayed quiet during the assessment between the two women as he let them continue.

"Or perhaps he adjusts all too well to the new world. You humans lack in technology even from what you once had during your apex - back then, we still were wielding more advanced weapons and technological innovations than anything you mon'keighs had created."

"The inspiration of the Cult Mechanicus advanced human technology over mere millennia, not millions of years."

"And what would you know of our race?" Reri snapped. "You know nothing of what we were, or what we are. Are we really so barbaric to you?"

"Ladies, I get you want to argue..." He interrupted, for the best, he felt. "But do it sometime when I'm not around. Fucking arguing and shit is why humankind back in my day had big problems, and I'm not going to let that happen. Not again. This period in time may suck ass for humanity, but I'll be damned if I let problems of the past resurface as the problems of the future." Seeing that they had been quiet so far, all that mattered was that he moved on to his next location. "Let's return to the _Cryptic Retribution_ and gather our things. I figure our next stop should be flagship of the Imperial Navy in the Segmentum Solar... Might as well meet the Lord Commander. He does seem to be my sort of guy, after all."

Standing up and turning away, he found a cool metallic hand on his now bare shoulder. "May we speak privately?" It was Dalia, and the look on her face indicated seriousness and concern. He nodded, motioning for her to follow him into his office, shaking her head and letting her blonde locks flow more freely than they had previously. Sitting down, she exhaled before voicing her concerns.

"I have... some reservations about our visit to the Ecclesiarchy. Even to the Imperial Palace itself." She uttered clear as day. "With your... union to a Xeno, in concert with your ship having a crew-full of Hereteks, the Adepta Sororitas will immediately attempt to kill you as a traitor. If the Repentia are who come... May the Omnissiah have mercy upon us all."

"I don't see what the big deal is..." He had no clue as to the Sisters of Battle, or what the importance of such was. "If they have an issue, I'll tell them to suck it up, don't get their panties in a wad, and generally show them how to stop being insane." Clearly he had no understanding as to the depths of fervor that the Sisters of Battle underwent - they were completely mad, positive that even the slightest of punishment involved would require such exotic punishment as a Penitent Engine, or perhaps even...

"Such is my advice... regard or disregard it as you wish. But these Hereteks will rub off on you. The Sisters will never allow you deep into the Ecclesiarchy, and the Repentia will try to kill you on sight, even if you caused great harm to their greatest foe. This is a dangerous game... One in which life and limb are the currency used to wage war. Holy war."

He pondered for a moment... insane space nuns with space guns? Had the Catholic Church gone insane? Or was it coincidence? An all female order of great devotion... yet in this case, these sounded more crazed than anything. Hopefully they would be rational enough to talk to... If not, then things would go very bad, very soon.

 _Very soon..._


	22. Chapter 24

_Emperor-class Battleship Divine Right_ , _Gothic Sector, 5 951.999.M41_

Upon approach to their next destination, a message popped up on the cogitator. Though the message was from the Imperial flagship, it was oddly encrypted, something he doubted was typical fanfare for approaching freighters. On a hunch, he raised his rosette to be scanned by said cogitator - and the message began to decrypt. It was an audio file, masked through a series of distorting scramblers that helped ensure the identity of the sender remained a secret. Even their gender would be impossible to disturb.

 _"Your arrival was expected... What you're looking for is here. He may be anywhere. Anyone, thanks to his powers. You must find him."_ The message was short, simple, and to the point - but evidently, the spawn of that genetic atrocity known as the Maerorus assassin was on board the _Divine Right_ , hidden amongst the crew of the Imperial vessel. This would be like finding a needle in a haystack.

"Well... This sounds like fun." He sighed, sitting down next to Reri as the machine-spirit commanded his vessel on final approach to the gargantuan warship. "An old-ass starship and an assassin on board. Who knows how long they've been waiting there?"

"We need to prepare." Dalia straightened out an unwanted crease in her robe. "This assassin may hide as anyone, anything... We need a method of identifying one another if need be."

"DNA test?"

"On a small scale, it's doable." She nodded. "However, there's no possible way fr us to test the crew of the vessel - not enough supplies, for one, not to mention there's plenty of opportunity for the Maerorus to kill someone successfully tested. We should worry about ourselves for now."

As the Arvus Lighter landed in the warship's hangar bay, it was the perfect opportunity to survey the situation - a row of Guardsmen, likely a part of the vessel's ground complement, stood at attention as the party moved to descend, the millennial intentionally standing behind Reri with a hand resting on his Volkite weapon, giving the illusion that he was ready for anything his 'prisoner' could do. He knew she wouldn't try and make a scene - not after the moments they had shared together.

The ship's captain, Lord Admiral Arsenyl Grove, greeted them as they reached the end of their line of guardsmen, doing his best to ignore the xenos as the millennial stepped forward. "Welcome to the _Divine Right_. The Lord Commander of the Segmentum Solar seems to have made a break from his typical territory for this meeting."

"Well, it's a bigass ship, I'll certainly give him that." He nodded. "When was this thing made? How old is it?" Certainly manufacturing such a powerful warship would be a highly limited procedure, costing tens of trillions of whatever passed for credits nowadays.

"The hull of this magnificent vessel was discovered as a part of the space hulk known as the _Inculate Evil_. The Hulk was dismantled, and the _Divine Right_ was found in a fully powered state. It is estimated it spent over ten millennia in the Warp, implying a loss date of sometime in millennia twenty-six." That startled him - boats weren't supposed to remain watertight for a hundred years, let alone ten thousand.

"And I assume you simply copied this ship and built new ones off of its design specs?"

"Such is what happened, yes..." he nodded as the Lord Commander himself arrived. He was a man of extreme age, wrinkled skin highly contrasted by the heavy levels of cybernetics embedded into his flesh, including an artificial eye.

"Glad to have you aboard... The situation has been laid out before us - we will be meeting the Dominator-class cruiser _Perdition_ here within the Gothic Sector. Both vessels will then travel to what reconnaissance has identified as the current location of the _Chaos Eternus_ , the sole Acheron-class heavy cruiser, stolen from the Imperium by the forces of Chaos millennia ago. We believe that they still do not fully understand the advanced technology on board that ship - its destruction is the only way to assure that its secrets do not fall into the hands of Chaos."

"Wait... you can't just board the fucker and take it over? I've seen your manpower...It shouldn't be that hard."

"We will not expose our guardsmen to the power of Chaos, nor shall we expose the naval officers or anyone else. That vessel is tainted with the evils of the Warp - we know not what sort of corruption it holds."

He facepalmed. "I guess I'll handle it... Didn't want to have to waste my time with another boarding... but I guess it's just me." He grimaced, stepping onto a lift with the Lord Commander and the vessel's captain. It began to rise through the structure of the ship with increasing speed.

"Well, how do you intend to successfully ensure that this ship can't escape?" That was the kicker. He hadn't seen any evidence in his sojourns regarding the development of anti-warp drive technologies. Perhaps none had thought of it, or perhaps they had been long forgotten.

"On behalf of the Mechanicus, we are testing a new weapon... The Warp Mine. These are specially modified naval mines, fitted with powerful thrusters. A Culexus assassin - a blank - has been permanently integrated within the mobile mine. The Magos who developed this new weapon of war believes that the anti-psychic powers of the Culexus will distort and mangle any attempt to form a suitable Warp rift for the _Chaos Eternus_ to escape through. With the ship trapped, we should have more than enough firepower to ensure its destruction."

That seemed... Somewhat reasonable. Trap the ship, torpedo it, and destroy it as soon as possible. Despite this, the millennial held reservations. The ship could not be a total loss, could it? Certainly some of the technology within could be salvaged. But that depended entirely on the circumstances the vessel ended up in... After all, it wasn't as though the Lord Admiral who held captaincy of the grand Emperor-class battleship would let up for a moment against the tainted Acheron. "Our arrival should be soon... We will show you and your fellows to your quarters." The Lord Admiral cautiously eyed the rosette hanging from the carapace armor he wore as a pair of Guardsmen came to escort the three to their respective rooms. Dalia had requested her own room, while the millennial had no qualms about sharing a room with Reri.

He did need to keep an eye on his prisoner, after all.

* * *

 _Emperor-class Battleship Divine Right, 5 955.999.M41_

It was the beginning of the end for the Chaos vessel. The _Divine Right_ and _Perdition_ travelled through the Warp together, Lord Admiral Arsenyl continually staring out into the valley of the Empyrean, the vessel's Navigator consistently relaying coordinates to the helmsmen. This would be a glorious moment long remembered - the denial of a warship to the powers of Chaos.

The millennial awoke, turning over and eying Reri, who still was fast asleep. Slowly he stood up before silently hearing something out in front of his door. The Necrodermis coating his hands tingled in alarm, making him more aware of the dull thud of a Guardsman falling to the ground. The two of them had been assigned to keep watch... forming a suspicion in the head of the archaic human being that he prayed was not the truth.

Silently opening the doors at the end of the hall... he was both shocked and confused. There was a significant amount of blood splattered across both the floor and the walls of his room - but strangely enough, there was no sign whatsoever of the Guardsmen's corpses. A trail of bloodstained bootprints traveled down the hallway a good twenty feet, growing ever fainter before completely disappearing.

Certainly, this was the sign of the Maerorus at work... the further he examined it, the more he noticed something particularly unusual - there was a thin, slime-like clear fluid that seemed to barely glisten against the metal floor. He scraped up a bit with his hand, holding it and noticing that the liquid trailed off in a particular direction. Dalia had exited her room, and from the doorway he saw Reri begin to sit up.

"This... is unusual." The tech-priest whispered, the high-tech electoos embedded within her skin pulsating in shock. "The fluid resembles the sort of material often found in Tyranid reclamation pools... And according to the data we have on the assassin that spawned this creature, there was no known data about the Tyranids in existence at that given point in time. The closest thing I would expect would be the Ymgarl strain of Genestealer, back when Genetors believed them to be a solitary species of xeno, but they are incapable of developing reclamation pools, so far as I know."

"Well... wouldn't there still be the genetic potential to create the reclamation pool's liquid?" That seemed to be the only explanation to him - after all, genetics were something he didn't pay much attention to.

"Potentially, but gene examination would be required in order to adequately determine just what could be done regarding the overarching genetic situation." She sighed. "In either case, we need to follow this trail."

Reri soon arose herself, wearing only her nightwear as she grasped the Impaler and Falchion that belonged to her, slowly standing up. "Then again, perhaps it absorbed a Tyranid sometime back like an out of control mon'keigh-created genetic bioweapon."

As they moved to travel down the hallway, in order to adequately examine further the location where the creature was located, a message came through to the millennial as he headed back to his room, giving as soon a response as he could. "Yes?"

It was the Lord Admiral in question. "We need you on the bridge. The Navigator says we'll be exiting the Warp within ten minutes. Once we begin battle with the _Chaos Eternus_ , there will be no turning back."

"Understood... let me get suited up, and I'll be there right away." His swift return to his room would help ensure that he could best don his more regal attire - the artificer armor and accompanying armaments. Hopefully, this would be what he would need in order to ensure the Imperium's victory over the forces of Chaos.

* * *

 _Graildark Nebula, Gothic Sector, 5 955.999.M41_

It was time.

The Emperor-class Battleship emerged from the Warp rift into the gaseous nebula, long forged from the smoldering shell of a dying star. The _Perdition_ soon followed behind, and as both shops scanned throughout the immediate area, they found exactly what it was they were looking for.

It was the Acheron. The hull had long been impregnated with vile emblems to Chaos, profane inscriptions invoking daemonic entities most foul. The residual taint of the accursed heavy cruiser was so strong, the millennial shuddered just from the feeling of having been near.

"Alright..." Admiral Arsenyl spoke through the comm to personnel down in the Emperor's hangar. "Launch Warp Mines and surround the Acheron. We'll fire a longer-ranged burst of lance fire to get their attention." The response from below was a shaking sound of projectiles being fired through space, the trail of superheated plasma behind them causing the resulting shots to be very visible as they flew through the void of space.

Their impact upon the monstrous ship's void shields did indeed elicit a reaction. The barbaric Chaos craft turned towards the _Divine Right_ , letting loose a salvo of torpedoes and daemonic lance fire towards the Battleship itself. Shark Attack Boats soon joined the fight, traveling towards the enemy vessel to deal closer ranged damage. The Warp Mines had spread throughout the region, their nippy speed constantly letting them circle the _Chaos Eternus_ as they prevented its escape. For a time, it appeared as though this would be a simple battle to win.

Until it arrived.

A tremendous Warp rift tore open directly next to the _Perdition_ , a gargantuan vessel exiting the Empyrean and slamming nose-first into the Dominator. Metal creaked and groaned under the strain before explosively buckling, the cruiser taken out of service eternally by the abominable warship, one that had claimed a Primarch as a prize many millennia back.

A helmsman stared at the oncoming scene with a mad sense of fear in his eyes. "May the Emperor show mercy on us..."

What is that thing?" The millennial asked, star in out into the void at the newcomer, certainly not a friendly face. The Lord Admiral wiped his brow before delivering an answer that chilled every bridge officer to the bone.

"It's... It's the _Sword of Sacrelige_."


	23. Chapter 25

_Emperor-class Battleship Divine Right, 5 955.999.M41_

The _Sword of Sacrilege_. The vessel upon which Rogal Dorn disappeared in his quest to assail the forces of Chaos and prevent their push into Imperial space during the First Black Crusade. A Despoiler-class Battleship constructed by the infernal forces of the villainous Space Marines who had abandoned the Emperor's light and chosen to devote themselves to the Dark Gods. Whatever foul Champion of Chaos now captained the ancient vessel, he was here to assist his tainted fellows and destroy the pride of the Imperial fleet. The Despoiler, in concert with the _Chaos Infernus_ , were more than a match for the ancient Emperor-class Battleship, and Admiral Arsenyl stared in horror at the sight in front of him, eying the wreckage of the _Perdition_ as it scattered throughout the region.

"Welp, we're fucked." The millennial was rather punctual about the situation indeed... "Unless you have an ace in the hole?"

"We don't have enough time to recharge our Warp drive before those vessels get in range. We're going to have to hold them off and call for whatever reinforcements we can convince to come to the nebula." The Lord Admiral seemed to be full of copious quantities of unneeded despair, pessimistic at their chances of survival.

"Well... what sort of weapon batteries does this ship have?"

"Lance batteries, predominantly..." Began Arsenyl.

"Then fire all guns at both ships. They can't be _that_ tough after having been unmaintained in God knows where for all these years." The bridge crew, willing to try any option, began sending orders down to the gun crews, the ripples of lance fire soon permeating through the ship as the long-range projectile weapons flew through the void, impacting against the void shields of the _Sword of Sacrilege_ , the vessel responding with fire from its own weapons batteries as hordes of Hell Blade fighters and Hell Talon bombers began to pour from its cavernous hulk.

"Launch all fighters and prepare to engage Chaos forces!" Admiral Arsenyl relayed a message to the hangar bays as squadrons of Starhawk fighters emerged from the ancient battleship. Not at all comparable to the swarm - though the pilots were some of the best in the Imperium to have been assigned to the former flagship of Battlefleet Gothic.

The battle prodded on at a beastman's pace - the _Chaos Infernus_ still attempted to futilely ward off the Warp Mines circling around it as the _Sword of Sacrilege_ moved itself between the two vessels, blocking the _Divine Right's_ pursuit of its objective. Assault from wave after wave of seemingly endless Chaos bombers would eventually wear down the loyalist vessel's void shields, and a score of torpedoes slammed into the Emperor-class battleship's side, tearing gaping holes within its tremendous hull.

The bridge shook with righteous fury, the lights flickering as emergency power initialized, the cold gleam of thin lighting strips illuminating the consoles as the millennial looked for Reri, who was on the ground, shaken by one of the more recent and mighty impacts. Falling to one knee, he looked her over, taking her hand in his own as he gave her a soft smile. She eyed him with her own gaze before weakly, faintly returning his look.

"Reri... I lo-" His statement of affection soon found itself interrupted as the vessel's Navigator pointed towards the blackness of space.

"Look!"

A new Warp rift had opened up, another vessel emerging into the void from within the Warp - but this ship had none of the blatant maleficence either of the Chaos ships reverberated. Its dulled yellow coloration, fraught with steel gray borders, shone brightly as the light of exchanged laser fire flowed through space.

A message came though the comm systems of the _Divine Right_ , which overjoyed the bridge crew. "This is Captain Darnath Lysander of the Imperial Fists, aboard the Battle Barge _Spear of Vengeance._ We are here to gain retribution for the fall of our Primarch at the hands of these Chaos dogs. Primarch-Progenitor, to your glory and the glory of him on Terra!"

The Battle Barge began to engage the _Sword of Sacrilege_ at point-blank range, lance batteries perforating its battered void shields as impact after impact of heavy weaponry tore chunks of corrupted metal away from the ailing battleship. The Chaos vessel's hangars, comb-like as they were, easily were blown apart through a salvo of Imperial missiles, a strike on the warship's engines cutting out their plasma thrusts and leaving the Despoiler-class vessel dead in space.

Far away, however, the Hell Blades had locked on to the Warp Mines. Though they struggled to maneuver out of the way, they one by one were destroyed until only a single unit was left. The null powers of a single Culexus, however, were not enough to destabilize the Warp gate of the _Chaos Infernus_ , which soon succeeded in slipping back into the Warp. The Lord Commander cursed silently at the loss of his goal - the traitorous forces had been given more time to decipher the secrets of that prototype vessel, though the Imperial Fists had scored another glorious victory in their disabling of the Despoiler-class Battleship.

A message came in from the _Spear of Vengeance_. " _Divine Right_ , we request your assistance in purging this vessel of traitor filth. With the Emperor's blessing, the remains of Rogal Dorn should successfully be found here - and we may finally put our Primarch to rest." Other chapters had been fortunate enough to retrieve the remains of their Primarchs once they had become deceased - the Blood Angels were a superb example of such. The millennial stayed quiet before stepping forward and pressing the button to open a channel from the side of the battleship.

"I respect your need for closure, Captain Lysander. If it's alright with you, I'd like to join you on board your ship - good place to leave my shit so it doesn't end up getting hauled away without me once the _Divine Right_ powers back up and gets the hell out of here."

"Very well... our hangar bays are opened for your arrival. Be swift - Ave Imperator."

The feed dropped as the millennial moved to place his arm underneath Reri's, supporting her before turning towards the Lord Commander once more. "Thanks for the visit... I gotta say, this was one hell of a ride. Maybe I'll be back for another run sometime."

"We will provide you with an escort of Guardsmen on your way to the _Spear of Vengeance_. Consider it a courtesy from me." Such seemed a reasonable reaction as he traversed to the central elevator with his companion, the lift slowly lowering to conserve the shaky power supply from the damaged reactors of the _Divine Right_. Dalia was waiting for the pair at the hangar, along with a squad of Guardsmen already loaded into his Arvus Lighter.

"Is she alright?" Dalia gave her best concerned face - one with only a trace of emotion as another pulse of energy ran over her flesh.

"I am more than capable of taking care of myself, mon'keigh."

"Then why do you need his assistance to stand?" She quipped, flashing a stern grin that could almost have been mistaken for a smile. Reri grimaced, removing herself from the millennial's grasp before taking a seat next to a Guardsman whose face turned ashen white. Dalia herself sat across from the Dark Eldar, watching watching her fellow passenger squirm uncomfortably as she gave him a stare with her piercing eyes.

As the rear door of the Arvus Lighter closed, the machine-spirit taking control and lifting off, the millennial sat down in the command chair, the pilot's seat twirling left and right as he fidgeted. He couldn't place his finger on it, but...

Something was wrong.

* * *

 _Battle Barge Spear of Vengeance, en route to the Phalanx, 4 957.999.M41_

The Imperial Fists were no fun.

Upon his arrival, there had been no shock, no awe - nothing at all from one of the loyalist chapters that had cleaved so tightly to the teachings of their Emperor that they venerated. It was as though to them, there was nothing special about a thirty-eight thousand year old human wandering the decks of one of their Battle Barges. Still, they were respectful, a battle-brother or two eying the Inquisitorial rosette that hung around his neck, no comments made about his company. Such was something he found he could appreciate.

Prior to reaching the main lift in the hangar, he encountered Captain Lysander in the flesh for the first time. Though he wore a bulky suit of Ignatus-pattern power armor, the Space Marine's suit of Indomitus-class Terminator armor gave him over a foot of height in comparison to the ancient human. His expression was one of stern resolve, a man who had seen much war and atrocities far too numerous to count.

"So." He stated, holding a mighty thunder hammer in one hand and a storm shield in the other. "You are the mortal relic that we have heard of." Surprising that they would know - albeit in a minor manner only.

"Yeah, that's me. Put on ice for a long time, still suffering a bit from culture shock, if you know what I mean." A blank stare indicated that no, he had no knowledge of the term. "Anyways... How're we gonna do this? I'm looking forward to seeing these guys get offed again."

"Calm yourself." Captain Lysander spoke with tremendous authority audibly present in his voice. "The crew of the accursed vessel are members of the Black Legion - the damned traitors ruled by the former servant of Horus himself, Ezekyle Abaddon. If he is there... we shall have no choice but to destroy this hulk, and all life upon it. The chances of such are minimal, however - the Black Legion's forces have primarily been halted at the world of Cadia."

"So our chances of running into the big baddie are slim..." His voice trailed away. Truthfully, he had no desire to encounter Abaddon, Warmaster of Chaos and foremost of the traitors.

"Correct." The Terminator-armored Astartes nodded. "We will launch boarding torpedoes as soon as our Battle Barge ensures that the engines of the _Sword of Sacrilege_ are irreparably damaged. The last thing our Chapter needs is for one of its Captains to go missing in the Warp for Emperor knows how long."

"I'm not a big fan of getting frozen in time myself..." He nodded. "Alright then, let's get to it. Seems we have some traitors to kill."

Those who had betrayed the Imperium millennia ago, setting into motion the stagnation and decay that festered throughout humanity's sole form of government, had long since survived their initial descent into damnation, corrupted by the foul energies of the Warp. Many fell prey to mutation, their once superhuman forms a tangle of monstrous limbs and abhorrent flesh. Some made pacts with the daemons of Chaos, allowing their very forms to become residence for the entities of the Warp that irredeemably cursed them to the service of one of the Dark Gods. And indeed, many dedicated themselves to a single one of the Ruinous Powers, becoming the cacophony of Noise Marines, the bloated and festering Plague Marines, the powerful Tzeentchian Sorcerers, and the bloodthirsty Khornate Berserkers.

Yet there were some who chose to take that extra step - those like Erebus, Dark Apostle of the Word Bearers, or Perturabo, the Daemon Primarch of the Iron Warriors, who devoted themselves not to one facet of Chaos, but to all. And none among these heathen were more reviled, more cursed by the citizens of the Imperium than Abaddon the Despoiler. Would the Chosen of the Dark Gods be there to greet the Imperial Fists? Or would a mere servant with a fraction of his significant power be the commander of the villainous vessel that seemed to stare at them through the voids of space?

Soon, all would be revealed to them.


	24. Chapter 26

_Despoiler-class Battleship Sword of Sacrilege, 5 957.999.M41_

The _Phalanx_ had been an interesting tale to talk about - a mobile fortress-monastery, similar to the Rock, which the Imperial Fists called their home and place of sanctuary. That such a location was in the area had to be no coincidence, but this raised the question of whether or not the Founding Chapter knew of the presence of the vessel that killed their Primarch. After offloading some unnecessary personnel from the Battle Barge, the _Spear of Vengeance_ had finally sent the millennial, Reri, Dalia, their protecting squad of guardsmen, and the First Company's squads of Veterans and Terminators. Five companies of battle-brothers had gone on this Crusade against the forces of Chaos, but it would be the oldest and wisest of the chapter that would fight against their ancient brethren that lived upon this debaucherous vessel.

Once the holes had been cut within the hull of the ancient Chaos hulk, the group entered the wreck's hallway only to immediately come under fire from a force of Black Legion Astartes. Corrupted bolters spewed out tainted rocket-rounds that flew through the air, the Terminators standing firm and unleashing a hail of fire from their storm bolters that began to overwhelm what had once been the Sons of Horus themselves. The retreat would likely be temporary, an opportunity soon utilized by the invaders to further press forward through the ship's interior.

"You have even the slightest idea where the hell we're going?"

"These vessels have not been in Imperial service for over five thousand years... The _Sword_ itself is nearly as old as the _Terminus Est_. I will tear this ship apart if it means that my chapter may finally lay our Primarch to rest." Captain Lysander's resolve was to be praised. This crusade would likely be the end to the mystery which had driven the Imperial Fists to seek new levels of pain-based meditation for millennia since their dispersal into chapters.

"Well... We could always split up, cover more ground that way. Would certainly speed up the cleaning process." The millennial was right, but spreading forces out did come with the inevitable risk of falling prey to a concentrated Black Legion attack. For Captain Lysander, the risks evidently seemed worth the rewards.

"We will split into smaller units. Each squad shall break off into a different direction. I shall come with your party and its guardsmen to counterbalance your lack of more heavily armed troops - though I will keep in contact with my fellow battle-brothers through my earpiece, such is certain. We must remain in constant communication."

A console was nearby as the group hurried through the vessel - when something unusual began to be picked up by Captain Lysander's armor. "I am receiving a signal from a Teleport Homer... Imperial Fists encryption. None of us have such pieces of equipment with us, however..."

"Dalia, is there any chance you could use the console to find out where the signal's coming from?" The millennial had a hunch, but couldn't verify it unless he could make it more evident. From how Darnath gazed at his suit's wrist, however, it could obviously be told that the Astartes held the same suspicion as he.

The tech-priest's hand was revealed, energy pulsing from its palm as she moved closer, for a moment pressing it against the console's screen before pulling it back, a scream exiting her lips. Such was just in time as a Black Legion Havoc opened up down the hallway with a heavy bolter, spraying copious quantities of shot as he moved closer towards their location. Captain Lysander lurched out, Storm Shield held in front as he guarded himself from the weapon's fire before crushing the torso of the heretic with a single blow, the Fist of Dorn adding more blood of the traitor to its legacy of death against the foes of the Emperor.

"T-There's a ghost in the machine."

"The Emperor protects..." One of the Guardsmen whispered, handling his grenade launcher with care.

"This entire vessel... nothing but a monstrous daemonship, the crew subsumed by an entity of the Warp so that more Black Legionnaires may reside aboard."'

"Did you get anything else out of it?" The millennial was worried for Dalia, much to the consternation of Reri, whose gaze gave away her thoughts on the matter.

"I... Hardly. We must go further into the bowels of the warship." She shuddered a bit. "Only there will we find the source of this mysterious signal..."

"Perhaps..." Captain Lysander pondered over a simple option. "It is potentially possible for us to speed our journey towards the signal up. The armor I wear has a teleport homer integrated within it. By overcharging it, we all could potentially be teleported... though some risk would exist regarding potential materialization into the wall. This signal is very weak."

"Fuck it, go ahead. We could spend hours investigating this shit. Anything that speeds the search up is doable."

"Very well." He nodded, placing his storm shield behind his back and holding out a gauntleted hand. "The closer you are, the less chance of an incident occurring." Soon the party huddled around the form of the Imperial Fists' venerated warrior as he prepared to initiate the teleport system integrated inside of the ancient Indomitus armor he wore. The suit powered up as Dalia placed her hand within his own, more energy flowing to the systems of the suit, its range increasing frenetically as it was overcharged. The others grabbed hold before they found themselves within the Warp itself for sparsely a second before reality returned around them.

The Teleport Homer's signal brought them to a large room, one on the far side of which was a man bound to a throne-like chair. He was larger than Captain Lysander, even in Terminator armor, but appeared pale and weak to the point that the millennial was unsure as to whether or not he was even alive. Chains covered in profane writings pressed his arms and legs to the seat, the armor he wore once golden, now dulled and faded to a faint yellow coloration. An eagle, the large form of which was bound behind the man's head, lay in pieces, both wings broken off, their pieces lying upon the ground nearby. The shoulder pauldron of what had assumedly once been an Aquila had been defaced, gouged away to the extreme - other panels as well showing signs of damage and defacement, practically vandalism.

These were not the most grievous wounds he had experienced, however. His left hand was... not there. A fleshy stump ended his arm, scar tissue having accumulated over millennia surrounded by the jagged remains of where a gauntlet had been sheared off - it lay nearby as well. Captain Lysander fell to one knee, eying the man whose eyes were closed, a single tear dripping from the corner of his eye. "We... have failed you, Primarch-Progenitor. Now you shall be brought home."

A strike with the Fist of Dorn impacted upon the wards of the bindings, the arcane metal cracking under the strain of a holy weapon's impact. Another strike snapped the chain surrounding his left leg, and though his armor was slightly dented, he remained unharmed, unresponsive to the world around him. The emotion that had accumulated within the First Company's captain, emotion of an entire chapter manifested from the mind of one man, was beginning to swell. Another strike was brought down on the right leg of the eagle-wearing Primarch - the cracks were more visible as the millennial reached forward, grabbing and tugging at the chains, artificer armor-enhanced strength breaking their wards as well.

A single blow from the relic Thunder Hammer destroyed the bindings of his right hand as Dalia and Reri struggled to move his left hand back, slipping it out from underneath the infernal chain. Though Rogal Dorn was now free of his bonds, he was still seemingly lifeless - and a lifeless Primarch would be difficult to get off the ship, particularly considering where they were located.

"Alright, we gotta figure a way out. Captain Lysander?" The Astartes pressed upon the button to begin initializing his teleporter, the response being nothing more than a puff of smoke from his suit of armor. "Well, um... Is his armor still working?" He pointed to the heavily damaged suit of baroque power armor worn by the Primarch of the Imperial Fists.

"I still pick up the signal from his teleport homer." Captain Lysander stared at the vacant face of his progenitor, the one whose genes he as an Astartes was based on. "Perhaps our Primarch may prove to be our escape from this wretched hulk as his last gift to our chapter before we place him to rest."

"What are the chances we can bypass his teleporter to your armor, so you can set a target?" The millennial looked at the very well preserved remains as Reri reached to grab a massive golden bolter that hung from the wall, soon turning to eye the tech-priest that was with them. "Dalia, you're the tech-wizard among us. That something doable?"

"In theory..." She nodded. "It will take time, however... Time and careful precision. The armor that your Primarch wears may not be fullly compatible with the suit of Indomitus-class Tactical Dreadnought armor you currently wear. There is a risk..."

The ancient human suddenly recoiled, looking up at the ceiling as the limp arm of a guardsman fell down upon his face. They had not been close enough, and had been scattered... all except for one that now clung to the ceiling like a spider, a hideous, reptile-like face as it scuttered over to another wall.

"Shit... That fucking Maerorus." He growled. "This could be stupid... but I see only one option." He swiftly surrounded the hands of the former Guardian of the Dragon with his own, forcing them against Rogal Dorn's chestplate. "Full power. Don't let anything up." His thoughts were on the scar tissue - scar tissue that would've only regrown itself(there being no signs of grafts) over an extended period of time. There was a very, very good possibility that the immortal warrior would yet still live.

As the voltage got turned up, current running through the pale body of the Primarch, his muscles shuddered, responding to electrical stimuli as though his brain were reawakening them. His muscles twitched across the entirety of his body, eyelids themselves showing a hint of movement, his flesh visibly gaining another shade's worth of life. All the while, the Maerorus skirted around the room, keeping a constant eye on the situation at hand.

"I will take his bolter and slay the enemies of the God-Emperor with it." Lowering his Thunder Hammer to his side, he raised the Voice of Terra before unleashing a hail of fire upon the Maerorus. Two rounds impacted its chest, blowing away flesh, yet it still appeared to be mostly unfazed. As he kept the beast away, its physical form degenerating into something more and more monstrous, something happened.

Something very unusual.

The right arm of Rogal Dorn, suddenly and without any sort of warning, was held straight out. The hand was wide open, the arm not bent at all - it was as though he was waiting to grasp something. "Reri, help me get that chainsword!" The defrosted Terran grasped one end of the tremendously large chainsword, Reri handling the other as they removed it from the barbed hooks that had held it up on the wall, a sick trophy of whoever it was that once conquered the heavily injured Primarch. As the Maerorus fell to the floor, lunging forwards and sending Captain Lysander reeling, the two managed to place the handle of the gargantuan merciless blade into his hands.

A sturdy grip soon found the Storm's Teeth, the noise of a chain-weapon echoing throughout the room, a loud yell escaping the lips of Rogal Dorn as he lunged forward, impacting into the mutating Maerorus and, even with a single hand, tearing into its flesh with the monstrous chainsword. Brown eyes, heavily bloodshot, opened widely as he stood atop the body of the struggling abomination, more of its flesh being torn away into small fragments by the weapon. Captain Lysander, seeing this as an opportunity to assist his liege, aimed the bolter and fired upon the wounded construct from afar, more bodily fluids gushing from it as the Maerorus found itself in an inescapable position.

The end soon was nigh - the Primarch cleaved the head of the reptilian beast off of its body, slicing the latter into vertical strips from head to toe before scattering the xenos-based flesh throughout the room to ensure that all life was gone from it before turning to his rescuers, weapon still in hand. He first looked at Captain Lysander, then Dalia, then Reri, before setting his eyes on the millennial, leaning in closer. A shiver of fear went down the old human's spine - this man was clearly a bit out of it from whatever tortures he had been put through.

"Ferrus..."He eyed the silvery metal surrounding the flesh of his hands. "You seem to have... Lost your stature..." Not exactly what was expected for the Primarch of one of the more conventional Space Marine legions, but he had been in a death-like state for millennia. He was hardly insane - but he was certainly not himself. None of that would matter if the Black Legion caught up with them, however.

It was a race against the clock to get out of hell.


	25. Chapter 27

_Despoiler-class Battleship Sword of Sacrilege, 5 957.999.M41_

There were five. The Dark Eldar, the Tech-Priest, the Astartes, the Human, and the Primarch. An odd party, certainly, but they had no choice in the matter. All that mattered was that they navigated the maze of intricate pathways that spanned the interior of the Despoiler-class Battleship. As they carried along, Captain Lysander remained silent, though the millennial stared at the scarred stump where a hand was once connected to the body. "The fuck happened to you?"

Rogal Dorn winced at the thought of how he came to be incapacitated deep within the vessel. "It was... To me it was yesterday. I stormed onto the bridge of this traitorous vessel in the middle of what was being called the Black Crusade. That foulspawn, Ezekyle Abaddon, led a host of the damned Astartes who had pledged themselves to the service of Chaos at the behest of their Primarch - my former brother - Horus." Though his mouth was dry, a single drop of spit flew across the room from his lips, impaling itself into the wall before slowly crawling down.

"The _Sword of Sacrilege_ was one of the leading vessels in the fleet of the Black Legion, the twisted remnants of what had once been the Luna Wolves. They were encircling near Subsector Coraeror, attempting to act as a vanguard to prevent Imperial forces from maneuvering further into their territory so we could reclaim the worlds in the name of the Emperor. We struck time and time again upon the vile hulk, each time attempting to distract it, to maneuver it into a position of vulnerability - they did not react as we intended."

"I alone chose to transport myself to the bridge of the vessel, to slaughter the damned and give them the Emperor's retribution. With chainsword and bolter in hand, I unleashed my righteous fury upon them, slaughtering all that I came across. None were innocent - all were heretics, mutated by the power of Chaos. They lived to be purged."

"After the bridge was cleared, an imposing, maleficent Marine staring at me, a smile on his face. His helmet had been modified, revealing glistening red eyes touched by the Warp and a barbed maw of fanged teeth. A tremendous iron horn stood out from the center of his helm, like a blade grown from within his skull. This was Devram Korda, he said to me, as he raised a vial to his lips - a vial filled with the life-essence of a dozen worlds. Such gave me a significant struggle, for though I am strong, he was nearly my equal in physical power. His daemon-infested blade matched with the sharp edges of my chainsword, teeth cutting into armor as my own found itself scarred by the vile blade."

"Soon, like the servant of Slaanesh he was, he began to let the pleasure of the battle overwhelm him. His maneuvers became less precise, his strikes less focused - which was when I used the opportunity to assail him, my blade at his throat, black ichor seeping from wounds to his armor. He was finished. But as I have learned the hard way, victory is rarely without tremendous cost."

"I felt a round of ammunition detonate within my back, and as I turned around, I spied him for the first time. There was no mistaking his identity - spikes impaling the skulls of guardsmen and Astartes littered the back of his armor, a bloodstained wolf-pelt draped over the rear of the suit of Cataphractii-pattern Terminator Armor. His hair was tied in the same fashion that all Sons of Horus had traditionally been, the Star of Chaos engraved upon his forehead. In his left hand, he held a blade, ever shifting shape as the faces of those slain by it appeared throughout the psychic metal. And mounted upon his right hand, smoke issuing from the barrels of the combi-bolter integrated within it, was the Talon of Horus, the very weapon used to slay my father and His son - my brother - Sanguinius."

"The Slaaneshi Astartes had been defeated. Loosely, he fell down to the floor as my grasp escaped his neck. As I turned towards the former Luna Wolf, I saw the depths of how Chaos had stained him, the power which the Ruinous Powers had granted him. My resolve was strengthened as I raised my blade, intending to strike his weapon and gain vengeance for the deaths within my family. But he was stronger. The vile claws of the daemonic weapon crunched around my hand, chainsword slipping from it as he wrenched further. What he spoke of as he amputated my limb, I know not - only that I soon fell to the ground, unable to halt the bleeding. When I had lost enough of my blood, I fell into a state of unconsciousess, preserving what little life I had left as my flesh worked to repair itself and ignore my wound."

Between that time and now, I found myself chained within the chair, not to be brought back to the realm of the truly living until the tech-priest sent a potent jolt of electricity through my body." He nodded respectfully towards her. "I thank you for your assistance." She gave him a quick glance before herself nodding at the Primarch in agreement.

Hurriedly they continued throughout the abominable warship, occasionally coming upon and combating a cluster of Chaos Space Marines that fell in short order thanks to the power of Rogal Dorn. Though his injury significantly impaired his combat capabilities, forcing Captain Lysander to have his relic bolter across his back to make sure that Chaos did not defile it, his skills with the mighty chain-weapon were still superb, the near-monomolecular edge of the reliquary blade cleaving through the flesh and ceramite of every fallen Astartes it touched. The millennial had just watched Reri bore open the skull of a fallen Black Legion member when he froze, immediately realizing the stupidity of what they were doing.

"Wait. Can't we just use the big guy's suit to teleport out?" The fact that neither he nor anyone else had thought of such a possibility previously was, to say the least, frustrating.

"If your vessel utilizes the same transporter system as it did many years ago when I was not lost, perhaps we can do something similar to how you arrived at my location - link to the teleport homer on board the Battle Barge and use the connection to ensure a safe transit for us all." Rogal Dorn did make quite a bit of sense despite still being not entirely together thanks to his tortured rest.

"It's better than nothing... I guess the lack of guardsmen'll decrease the chances of this blowing up in our faces." He placed his hand on the Primarch's shoulders. "Well... beam me up, Scotty." Reri grasped his other hand, Dalia linking herself with the Imperial Fist as he gently rested the hand of his Terminator armor upon the stump of his liege's left hand.

This would not go to plan.

* * *

 _Bridge, Despoiler-class Battleship Sword of Sacrilege, 5 958.999.M41_

They were taken to the bridge... but not the bridge of the _Spear of Vengeance_ , no. It was as though the Ruinous Powers themselves had redirected the teleport back on board the abominable wreck, leading them directly to the bridge of the Despoiler-class vessel.

On board the bridge were a coalescent horde of Slaaneshi Marines, all arrayed in a horrific combination of pinks, purples, and blacks. And there in the center, exactly as he had described, was Devram Korda, sitting within the vessel's command chair. He glowed with an inhuman aura, one that frightened the millennial inside, though externally he did his best to remain resolute.

"You escaped... my perfect little prize has finally managed to free himself from his pedestal... with help, I see." He sneered. "Guards, take them."

Though there was indeed a good amount of bolter fire, Korda seemed ignorant as his Marines were slashed, stabbed, and shot down. "This vessel and its crew have served the Despoiler loyally for the entirety of his time as Warmaster... Every Black Crusade, I have led the fleets to battle, and no servant of the Corpse-Emperor shall stop us now!"

"Black Crusa- Wait." The millennial paused. "How many Black Crusades have there been?"

"Thirteen... This is the most recent one." Captain Lysander interrupted before the Chaos Lord could utter even the slightest shred of a response.

"I'm guessing their goal's always been to get to Earth and take it over?"

"Yes..." Now the leading Chosen of Abaddon spoke up. "We shall conquer that accursed world and sacrifice its populace to the Dark Gods!"

"But you've tried to get to it thirteen times..."

"All of them have unfolded precisely as Lord Abaddon has foreseen, fool."

"So he knew they would end up failing?" To this, the twisted Luna Wolf said nothing. "Face it. You, your leader, and his army, are a bunch of fucking failures. You should be fucking ashamed of yourself for becoming the most laughable thing in this goddamn universe. You've been doing this shit for..." He turned to Captain Lysander. "How long?"

"Over ten millennia."

"...over ten thousand years, and yet you still can't get your shit done? And you have the fucking audacity to call yourself a 'Chosen of Abaddon?' I wouldn't even choose you to be my personal ass-wiper, because you ain't champion of shit, motherfucker. DO YOU FEEL ME, MATE? DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH OF A WASTE OF FLESH YOU ARE?" He began to yell, the gears having begun to turn ruthlessly. "YOUR FLESH WOULD BE BETTER OFF GETTING FUCKING RECYCLED INTO FOOD FOR POOR PEOPLE THAN BEING WASTED GETTING TURNED INTO A SUPER SOLDIER!"

The Chaos Lord said nothing - nothing at all. His exposed lips soon turned to a grim smile as he unveiled a vial that widened Rogal Dorn's eyes, the Primarch rushing forward even as it was already half-drunk, knocking it from the man's hands as it shattered on the floor of the bridge. It was not true invincibility, but it _was_ a sort of tremendous power - enough that he began to grapple with the Primarch, forcing the injured son of the Emperor back with a strike from the pommel of Korda's corrupted power sword to his head.

The millennial attempted to strike the mad warrior with his Power Maul, though he only succeeded in impacting the floor and creating a tremendous dent in it. Reri intentionally stayed away from the potent source of Slaaneshi power, disgusted by the very existence of such a corrupt foe as Dalia sent a quick pulse of electricity through his flesh that only seemed to return to her, sending her reeling back. Taking up the relic bolter of his Primarch, Captain Lysander began to fire upon the mutated Astartes with minimal results - his armor refused to wear down from the impacts.

Once more, Dorn found himself ailing. That he had but a single hand to the twin grasps of the Chaos Marine engaging him meant he was unable to fully block the fiend's strikes. But as the Primarch fell back, the millennial made a bold move - he lept onto Korda's back and began to tug at his helmet, attempting to remove the great iron horn that jutted abominably from the Chosen's head. Lysander himself wrapped his arms around Korda's body and began to pull, the helmet feeling looser and looser... until it popped off, along with a good portion of the Champion's facial flesh. Blood flowed from rended skin as he growled, a slash from his foul blade tearing open a rift into the Warp. Screams of damnation filled the bridge as he attempted to give the daemons he had made pacts with an opportunity to enter the Materium and slay servants of the Anathema.

But that opportunity never came. The vessel shuddered under the initial bombardment by the Battle Barge, the final stage of scrapping soon underway. The other Fists had not encountered difficulties and had already returned to their vessel - it was time for them to finally go home, back where they belonged. Grabbing onto the broken aquila that had once been Rogal Dorn's iron halo, holding the bloodied helmet of the Chaos Space Marine in his spare hand, he smiled as the teleporter was once again activated, the bombardment having finally killed any attempt by the ship to alter the instantaneous travel of the party. Grasping at his face, feeling the blood in his hands, Devram Korda laughed as the bridge crumbled around him. Whether the rift he opened was his path of escape, or whether he was killed, no one knew. All they did know was that the Imperial Fists had gained vengeance this day for ten thousand years of walking the lonesome road of penance. As for the millennial...

Well, he had a new trophy to add to the collection.


	26. Chapter 28

_Immaculate Blessed Cathedral of the God-Emperor, Holy Terra, 0 975.999.M41_

The encounter with the Black Legion had left the millennial spiritually drained. The doting attention of the rogue Eldar did little to nourish his soul, though he found the sense of close friendship blooming into true romance something he felt he could oddly agree with despite her tossing aside of such intimacy considered to be 'more noble' by the galaxy at large. Such was the reason he was here, located directly at the headquarters of the Adeptus Ministorum within the Grand Cathedral of the God-Emperor.

From what he could tell geography-wise, the location of the headquarters of the Ecclesiarchy was within the region referred to as the Eurean Boot millennia ago, a place where many churches and religions had risen and fallen. Within the sanctum of the building, he eyed the floor - compared to the gilded spires of ancient metal that rose up the sides of the building, the floor seemed to have been built of the rubble of some ancient building, with pure gold having been used as the mortar. Slowly he stepped forward to a single stone that seemed out of place, a stone that had a set of letters engraved upon it in a language he could sparsely understand. The words were Latin, or so it seemed... and he knew naught about them.

 _Lapis super sanguinem_  
 _qui effusus est hereticus_  
 _novissima senectus_

"Upon this stone lies the blood that has been shed of the last old heretic." A barbed female voice arose from behind the carapace-armored human, power maul and Volkite weapon by his side. "The Emperor cast the last stone of the last church upon the body of the last of the Terran priests after engaging and besting the resident unbeliever in a match of ideas, wit and dogma." Silently, he turned around before eying a woman with white hair arranged in what he could describe solely as a bob cut, hair sparsely even touching the top of her shoulders. She herself wore a suit of human-sized power armor practically comparable to the suit of artificer armor he had been gifted. In one hand, she held what looked like a bolter, though the fuel canister underneath the weapon's barrel clearly identified it as some sort of flamethrowing weapon. In her other hand, a lethal weapon was colored in solid scarlet - a chainsword, the lethal design of the ancient cutting tool having been compacted to the size of a standard single-handed blade.

An interesting piece of history, certainly." He turned to more fully face her, preparing for the worst case scenario. "If I might ask... who are you?"

"Your death, heretic."

With a loud cry, she unleashed a great gushing gout of burning promethium from the tip of her hand flamer, the rev of the chainsword echoing throughout the cathedral as she rushed towards the millennial. Dodging to the far side, he grasped at her arm, attempting to pull her off balance, but the augmented strength the power armor granted her was more than enough to send him flying towards the statue of some Imperial saint, the head of which was knocked off the rest of its metallic flesh and ended up in the hands of the ancient human.

Slowly returning to his feet, he began to, with his feet, kick the decapitated sculpt towards the woman who lurched towards him, as though it were some kind of sport. With a strong kick, he sent it hurtling forward, right into the path of the Sororitas, who found it caught up in her gait. She fell forward, stumbling as he brought the power maul forward, slamming it against the whirling teeth of chainsword, the resulting impact breaking the blade and causing the teeth to shatter, flying about the room. He cried out as a blade slashed across his shoulder joint, the Sister herself falling back with a wound that nearly perforated her cheek all the way through, her weapon rendered useless for the time being despite its motor still whirring as though the weapon still had bite. She was down, but considering the augmentation her suit had compared to his own, she still had the advantage - such was why he slid down and wrapped his legs around her neck mercilessly, thankful that the armor of the female warrior didn't come with a gorget.

As he choked her, hands free to wield his weapons, two more women screamed and out of nowhere charged him, their corset-like attire contrasted by the tremendous two-handed chainswords they wielded. When they closed upon him, he released his legs from the neck of the Sororitas, letting himself roll backwards as the massive weapons slashed at the ground. The noise the gargantuan blades made as their teeth gouged at the rocky floor was horrific, and he forced himself to back up as he was soon cornered by the two Repentias.

 _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck... I'm fucking dead..._

"Enough." A voice reverberated within the chambers - a voice that rang familiar to the ancient human. The voice had spoken up during the meeting of the High Lords regarding what was to have come of the millennial, the voice of Ecclesiarch Decius XXIII. The human's attire, sans particular markings and the futuristic design, almost perfectly mirrored from the days of the ancient church leaders who once called the Eurean Boot the center of their own dioceses. "He has heard not a single word of the sacred scriptures regarding the most holy God-Emperor, yet you immediately decry him as a heretic without offering him opportunity to submit to the Imperial Cult. Do this not again, lest you be sent to the Repentias for your actions."

"Whew..." The millennial stood up cautiously, raising his hand for a shake and wincing as he did so. "Thanks... You really saved my ass back there." A quick glance down, and Decius ignored the hand, instead turning away to begin his discussion of the basic history of the Ecclesiarchy proper.

"The Adeptus Ministorum began at the behest of Saint Fatidicus, who spread the words of the truth throughout the Imperium, converting billions to acceptance of the Emperor's divinity. The Adeptus Ministorum proper was formed as a branch of the Imperium. For centuries, we kept the faith... until a tyrannical madman named Goge Vandire used vile manipulation to usurp the position of Ecclesiarch. In the end, it was the guardians of the God-Emperor himself, the Adeptus Custodes, who saved the Imperium from his wiles by exposing Saint Alicia Dominica, the leader of Vandire's bodyguards, to the presence of our Lord himself. She decapitated the heretic after decrying his deception, his last words being that he was far too busy to die."

The two passed by a large statue of what appeared to be a very feminine angel - and inscribed upon the massive base of the monument was more Latin:

 _Alicia Dominica  
Hic requiescit corpore  
fidelis Deus-Imperator  
_

"Saint Alicia was the founder of the Orders Militant of the Adepta Sororitas, the militant wing of the Ecclesiarchy eternally responsible for ensuring proper devotion to the God-Emperor and purging heretics." A sinister glance came from Decius as he eyed the millennial - though he had never heard the doctrine of the Imperial Cult, the Ecclesiarch could practically sense that he was in no fashion to eagerly receive a doctrine different from whatever religious beliefs he held. Even a single doctrinal difference would be looked down on by the leader of the Adeptus Ministorum.

Through a hallway they walked, guarded by even more heavily armored women who wielded the same weapons of bolter and chainsword as those he had faced, their helmeted forms identifying them as Celestians, some of the most elite warrior-women within the militant force of the cult. "So... Why only women? I'm getting a serious vibe of nuns with guns here."

"According to Sebastian Thor, may the God-Emperor accept him, the previous military forces of the Ecclesiarchy, the Frateris Templar, were to be disbanded due to their susceptibility to manipulation at the hands of Vandire. No men under arms were permitted - but he allowed the Brides of the Emperor, Vandire's bodyguards, to be integrated into the Adeptus Ministorum proper, ensuring at least some form of protection for our numerous cathedrals." Both men stopped in front of a large vehicle, one the millennial identified as the Rhino of the STC specs from earlier - yet it had an intriguing turret mounted atop it.

"This is a Justice-Pattern Immolator." A Sister stepped up to the pair, her helmet's vox-caster garbling her voice intentionally. "Instead of the standard variant, which mounts two twin-linked multi-meltas on the Immolator's turret, replacing the twin-linked heavy flamers typically utilized. These can also be replaced with the blessed heavy bolters and their sanctified ammunition." She turned to the elder human - though he was taller than her, even with the powered armor she wore, still she frightened him.

"Ah yes, Sister Lia... Please tell our guest more about the Sororitas... and do showcase the Penitent Engines to him, as well as the Arco-Flagellants." Turning away, not even giving an 'Ave Imperator,' the Ecclesiarch returned to hs duties, leaving the two alone. Lia, thankfully, was unarmed, calming his nerves a bit as she turned and motioned for him to follow her down yet another hallway.

Psykers were treated poorly. Criminals found themselves turned into honorable superhumans. But nothing prepared him for the sight of the twin prisoners in service to the Sisters of Battle. Nearly fleshless arco-flagellants twitched behind thick glass walls, their hands long replaced with a cocktail of weaponry and their head covered with mechanical augmentations. Restrained next to them were the Penitent Engines - masterworks of Dreadnought-like machinery that left their user completely exposed at the front. Tears eternally streamed from the operators, flowing down their robe in constant trails of saline.

"These are some of the worst punishments an individual may receive... Though conversion into a servitor or Arco-Flagellant is considered a degree below simple execution, being integrated into a Penitent Engine requires a sin of the deepest level of heresy." The way she said it gave the millennial some indication that she hoped - or did they pray? - he would find himself a part of such a terrifying construct one day.

"Perhaps I should inquire of you... What forms of punishment were there in your time?" Well, that was a bit disturbing... after all, the last thing he wanted to recollect was how tame death in his time was compared to the methods of the here and now.

"Well, um..." He cleared his throat. "Mostly they just injected them with extremely strong drugs that killed them. In some places, we hung them, or electrocuted them, or gassed them, or used them as targets on the firing squad." She nodded, soaking in the information like a sponge - something he found surprising for someone outside the Mechanicus. "So, how'd you end up here?"

"My mother was a heretic. I killed her after my Sisters showed me the way."

"Okay then..." He turned away, fingering the Inquisitorial rosette in his hand before slipping it back within a pocket inside his armor. "You know, I'm not trying to be rude or anything, but this isn't a combat zone. Mind taking off that helmet? Not like taking it off'll result in you becoming super duper visually impaired to where you fuck the tour up."

A soft sigh elicited from Lia's lips as she slowly brought her hands to the seal, loosening it as she pulled the helmet away. As her face was revealed, the look of forced composure gave way to far more legitimate shock - certain physical features caused him to raise an eyebrow and step back. "How did... I thought the Imperium hated all y'all. How the fuck did that work out?"

Lia was, after all, not what he expected.


	27. Chapter 29

_Immaculate Blessed Cathedral of the God-Emperor, Holy Terra, 0 975.999.M41_

Sister Lia, for all intents and purposes, looked normal. Her body was the right size, and with her helmet on, one could easily mistake her for an ordinary human. But as the helmet slowly slid from her head, the tips of Eldar ears made themselves visible. They were smaller than a normal one's, certainly, indicating a bit of humanity mixed in, but she rather clearly was half-xenos.

"Doesn't the Imperium hate aliens?"

"I have undergone many trials to purge my spirit of the taint of the alien. Though my flesh will never be altered, my soul is as human as can be that of a daughter of the God-Emperor." To him, she sounded as though her mind had undergone significant brainwashing, and such was indeed the truth - the Sisters had, at the direction of their mission's Canoness-Commander, turned the half-Eldar into a tool of destruction for use against the Imperium's heretical foes. Who she was before mattered little - she had been broken and reforged by the Sororitas.

"Okay..." To him, such blind fervor was unheard of - yet despite this, he still found the concept of such a woman interesting. Reri herself was similar yet contrasting to Lia, and while he believed the use of such power needed to be responsibly wielded, the mental scrubbing put to use in converting the semi-alien into what she now was could easily find itself turned on others, forging them into Ecclesiarchal servants of the most devout caliber. While he expected such an influence to be a cornerstone of education in the Imperium, his own personal beliefs in freedom of religion still existent in this day and age, using brainwashing technology to convert people to a certain set of beliefs tremendously conflicted with his ideals.

The decision was made as he pulled out the rosette. Lia's eyes opened - he was probably the last man on Terra she expected to have a symbol of such power. "By the authority granted to me by the powers of the Imperial Inquisition, um... Shit, I dunno the rest of the creed." He sighed. "Anyways, point is, you're under me now, not whoever's in charge. So get your bags together and meet me at the front doors when you're done." He smiled, considering this the first step on the road to recovery, the initial move in cracking off that shell her true self had been encased in.

Her cheeks turned red not from embarrassment, but from a seeming frustration as she huffed, turning around and placing the helmet back onto her head. The millennial himself turned away, stepping back through the building on the way he came before finding the front door guarded by a quartet of Sisters, all who held large flamethrowing weapons in their hands.

"Inquisitor... I must digress with your decision." A deep, cold, merciless voice rang through the hall as he turned halfways back, noticing a woman stepping towards him. In one hand was a bolt pistol, whose silver-inscribed lines were engraved in the shape of the ancient fleur-de-lis, and in the other was a sword, glowing blue, crackling with an intense energy sparsely seen elsewhere. Her left eye was replaced with a simple cybernetic replacement, and befitting her image as the leading woman, she wore a veil that hid everything of her head except for a trace of white hair that stuck out from the corners of the opening. "The work put into ensuring Lia's service to the God-Emperor of Mankind is as dedicated as she has shown cannot merely be wasted for whatever matters you have to deal with. I kindly ask that you reconsider your decision."

A sigh crossed the lips of the defrosted man as he brought a hand to his face. "I see a few reasons that this isn't going to work out for you. For one, I've got a starship in orbit with a demi-company's worth of Lions Viridian Astartes who're still pissed at their losses thanks to a group of radical Astartes. As well, you're talking to someone who tricked a Sorcerer into turning into a Chaos Spawn, who took down a Terminator-armored Berzerker Champion with a single shot, and who sent a Great Unclean One back to the hell it came from. I've ripped the helmets off of Abaddon's chosen. I've ended a civil war. And above all, I've recovered a Primarch. Do you really, honest to God think I can't end you with a flick of my finger?"

He let his words settle in, noticing the visible shuddering of a couple of the Dominions. "Oh yeah... almost forgot." He stepped forward, a few inches of space between himself and the Canoness. "Remember that failure of yours? You know... that one Sister who turned to the Dark Side willingly? Yeah... I beat the shit out of her. Almost ripped that psychotic bitch's tongue out." An overwhelming sense of dread came across the face of the Canoness - this man had succeeded where a whole mission of Sisters had failed. He did of course leave out that he was backed up by several squads of Grey Knights and a company of Angry Marines... but such was understandable. He was outgunned, leaving a gilded tongue as the only weapon he could successfully use without getting gunned down.

"Mi- Miriael Sabathiel? You slayed her?"

He shook his head. "No... She ran away before I had the chance to do so, sadly." A grimace ran across his face as he recollected his failure to defeat all four suites of Chaos Champions. Her escape laid heavy on him. "I did manage to fuck her up pretty badly, though. Cracked her torso armor and busted the tubes on her sword. Almost ripped her tongue out too." The casual attitude with which he spoke about this seemed to be solid, but it was merely a well-placed facade - inside, he was disturbed at how easily it came to shrug off the gratuitous violence he had been a participant in. When it came to his time with the Arbites, the deaths he had caused were accidental. He had done his best to keep whoever he could alive. But when he traveled to the Space Hulk, to the Rock... the reservations he felt about causing death and destruction seemed to have completely vanished. Astartes, as well as the dogs of Chaos, were blood on his hands - some pure, some tainted, all of which he merely wiped on the metaphorical towel and went about his business.

"Very well... Your service to the God-Emperor is admirable, though you may hold... _unorthodox_ beliefs." She frowned. "I hereby release Sister Lia into your custody... On a single condition." Was he really surprised? "A squad of Sisters from this mission shall accompany her. More forces to your retinue..."

"Sounds like a plan." He smirked. "...on a single condition." She froze, still eying him cautiously. "You get rid of the brainwashing technology. I mean it. Consider what would happen if a traitor got inside your ranks. All of you could be turned into Chaos puppets and you wouldn't even know it. For your sake, scrap it... and I _will_ be sending people to check, so don't think I'm going to forget. Capisce?" He then recollected that the word likely was unused. "Do you understand?"

She nodded, and soon the millennial was free from the building, the curious Sororitas in tow. This would be an interesting story upon his return.

* * *

 _Armed Freighter Cryptic Retribution, In orbit over Holy Terra, 1 976.999.M41_

"I want all the info you can find, Dalia." The millennial spoke to the tech-priest, desiring her technical expertise in finding out who Lia was before she was molded into the perfect Sister. "You've got my permission to rosette your way through classification levels as deep as you gotta go. No idea how deep the rabbit hole is, but every hole has a bottom."

"I'll see what I can do." She nodded, turning towards a cogitator and inputting information within as the ancient human turned away, eying the still-helmeted Sororitas, her elven features hidden by the great helm atop her head. "Take it off, alright? No one's gonna look down on you for being part space-elf."

Slowly, she did as he requested, the scowl on her face having not disappeared. "I am only in your service because of the power you wield. The moment my time is done, I will return to my mission with my Sisters... hopefully never see your face again, radical."

"Ooooo... Look everyone! She's calling me a radical!" He pointed a finger at her, smiling and giving a short laugh. "Yeah, says the hybrid who all logic says should've gotten gibbed the moment she was seen by those psychotic bolter bitches. Hell if I know why they kept you - I'm pretty sure your very existence goes against some part of their Imperial Creed or whatnot."

"They desired to see whether even those whose humanity was diluted could serve the God-Emperor. I am living proof that such is possible."

"Yeah, cause they fucked your head up and didn't give a damn about what you wanted to do. That sorta reconditioning existed back in my time... Some of the most despicable people used it. Fortunately, I'm not the sort of guy to stoop to their level."

Before she could respond, a vox message came from one of the lower cargo holds. "You might want to get down here... The Sister-Superior's found some of our private cargo."

"Dammit, I knew we should've vaulted them." He turned to the half-breed once more. "Try not to cause any trouble, alright?" With that, he took the vessel's main elevator shaft down to the bowels of the pseudo-warship. One of the Sergeants of the Lions Viridian demi-company, Michael, was waiting for him upon his arrival to the cargo deck.

"They've formed a battle line towards the statues, sir... My attempts at explanation were responded to with a burst of flame. Could you try to calm them down? The last thing we need is more bloodshed in the Chapter." He nodded, stepping forward and witnessing an almost humorous sight.

On one side of the cargo bay was a complete squad of Adepta Sororitas - Three wielded heavy flamers, six wielded boltguns, and the Sister-Superior herself had a chainsword and bolt pistol outstretched towards her target. On the other side of the room, still as static and lifeless as they had been since being retrieved from the space hulk, were the forms of the Rubric Marines, silent and still like the deactivated automata they were. All Chaos sigils had been removed from their weapons and armor - there was naught an eight-pointed star of defilement to be found, yet still they were feared by the Sisters, who kept their weapons aimed. "Explain yourself, heretic!"

"Calm down, they're disabled..." He sighed, stepping between the two forces(or rather one). "They're trophies from that story I told the Canoness about. Once the Sorcerer turned into a blob of flesh and died, they all froze in place and went inactive. I figure the structures on their helmets are some sort of antennae that can receive commands. Maybe we can turn them into robots that work for us, I dunno."

Slowly, the Sister-Superior lowered her weapons, and the fellows behind her did so as well. There would not be blood(or dust) shed today, but was such going to be the case tomorrow? The mixture of individuals surrounding him grew more and more volatile by the day. Eventually, there would be a moment where things would virulently explode in a cacophony of emotion and actions never meant.

Hopefully, that moment wouldn't be any time soon.


	28. Chapter 30

_Armed Freighter Cryptic Retribution, in orbit over Holy Terra, 0 978.999.M41_

With the situation dimmed through the millennial's intervention and the Sisters defused(though hardly pacified), it was finally time to consider what his next move would be. Two locations remained on his voyage - that of the Astronomican, followed by the Imperial Palace itself. As he resided in orbit, a hand rested upon his shoulder - that of Dalia Cythera herself. Energy pulsed through the electoos under her skin as she looked at him. "The galaxy's a very unfriendly place, as I assume you've seen."

"Gee, that's the biggest understatement I've heard since waking up this morning." He smiled, though her own facial expressions remained serious.

"Back when I was given the role of Guardian of the Dragon, the Imperium was a much different place. Technology flourished - that Volkite Weapon you wield was as common as the boltgun is today. Exotic vehicle prototypes abounded... The Custodes had a wonderful vehicle known as a Grav-Rhino that could travel any surface with ease." Now the spark of remembrance filled her eyes as she recounted all the glories that mankind once held.

"And then it was lost to us." Her grin disappeared swiftly as she pondered the ignorance man now lived in. "Mankind turned from believing in science and reason, instead choosing to venerate their savior as a sparsely-living deity, flesh weakened by millennia of decay setting into mortal wounds at the hands of a son once loved. Many ancient technologies disappeared, corrupted by Chaos or destroyed through the infighting." Palpable was her disappointment with mankind at the path they had followed. The Emperor had let his people go - and it had been a terrible mistake.

"Humanity always seems to be splitting apart at the seems, eh?" He sighed, leaning back once more. "In my day and age, we thought the worst was over after the Cold War. We were wrong."

"Cold War?" She raised an eyebrow, curious as to which of the many Terran conflicts he spoke of.

"Yeah, Cold War. It wasn't really a war, so to say, as it was a struggle between two powerhouse countries - the Union of Socialist Soviet Republics and the United States of America. Both nations possessed tremendous armies of a high level technology-wise, some of which seems to have soldered on into today, and both wielded formidable arsenals of nuclear, biological, and chemical weapons, weapons capable of causing tremendous devastation were they to be unleashed upon unsuspecting civilians. But the two countries held different forms of government. The USSR was based around dictatorial rule, with harsh mandates developed from the theories of a man named Karl Marx. One could argue that they never truly followed Marx to the letter, but the point remained that they were an oppressive people. The USA, on the other hand, was based around freedom and democracy, each citizen having a say through officials that they elected - a representative democratic system of government. One day, the USSR broke apart. It was no longer able to sustain its ever-thirsting military-industrial complex, which dominated every facet of life. America won the Cold War, but from beyond the grave, it seems the Soviets have the last laugh."

Leaning back, the chair he was in tilted dangerously before he returned to the upright position. "Then again, maybe this Emperor guy remembers the past, though that explains fuck-all why he would let the Imperium become the shithole it is now. The average Imperial citizen has about as much freedom as my hair does from my scalp."

"True, but you must consider the horrors we've encountered. Sentient machines. Virulent new strains of xeno. The forces of Chaos you've encountered and seen with your own eyes. War is a common part of life now. You _must_ adapt - if not, I fear you won't survive the new millennium." Her warning ended, she turned away, assumedly to perform more duties regarding care of the ship in question. For the millennial himself, however, it was time to rest and rejuvenate. As he slid into bed next to the Dark Eldar he found himself ever bewitched by, he began to sense a strange presence, one that began to fill the mind even as his flesh slowly lumbered into sleep.

 _Awaken._

He found himself opening his eyes, standing within a formless void. It was not the Warp - yet it held no form of static change whatsoever, being ever-shifting in shape, color, and every other form of measurement he could think of. Turning around vigorously to gain his bearings, he fell backwards upon seeing her.

She was glowing, physically as tall as he was, if not taller - the inferiority not helped by the glistening golden armor, sword in one hand with a large, ten-pointed iron halo behind her head. Her hair was the same as a Sister of Battle - pure white in a bob cut - but a holiness radiated about her, one that touched the millennial to the very depths of his soul.

"Who... Who are you?"

The golden woman's voice radiated throughout the endless void of this space. _"I am Celestine, righteous servant of the God-Emperor of Mankind."_ He paused, still in shock from her appearance.

"What God-Emperor? A human being will never be a god, no matter how powerful he may be." He tried his best to prove resolute - something he found extremely difficult thanks to the presence of the Most Holy upon her.

 _"Though you remain ignorant of the truth, soon you shall understand. And if you do not... You shall still have a part to play in His plan for humanity."_

"I'm not someone to be puppeteered around with like a marionette on a string." He grimaced, frustrated at the feeling of being nothing but a cog in the great human machine that was the Imperium - nay, a plug, to be forcibly inserted into whatever situation seemed best at the time.

 _"Whether you believe in His divinity or not will matter little - you maintain a knowledge of how mankind once was before Age of Strife, before the Age of Apostasy. Your mindset is pure despite your lack of adequate reverence - and it is for such a reason that He will use you to give those who are lost a purpose again - to give those who are broken an opportunity to be reforged. Your crusade against the xenos and heretics shall earn you many enemies - yet your allies will come from the most unlikely of places. He will give you the chance you were denied in your time._ " Her wings moved with a natural stroke as she hovered before him.

"But he's a genocidal maniac... Even moreso than anyone I've ever read about! Why would he want someone who despises all his shit stands for to lead a crusade for him?"

 _"Perhaps He sees something within you that only one of His wisdom could appreciate."_ The Living Saint spoke with a sage-like tone. _"Something that no one of this day and age sees - not even you."_

"But I'm not a weapon..." He cried out, exasperated. "I wasn't raised in the hell-storm of combat, or forged in the crucible of war. I don't have any military experience... All I have is some knowledge of how old planes work. The rest has just been an extremely massive run of luck... and even that'll run out. Common sense isn't the only answer to the clusterfuck humanity's in."

 _"Have faith."_ He was almost certain he saw her smile. _"Faith can bend the rules of the universe to your will. It was faith that led me in life to the site of the Armor of Saint Katherine and her weapon, the Ardent Blade. Faith will lead you to the right decision - and He will assist you. Until then..."_ Slowly her form began to fade away, becoming less and less outlined, formed further into the shape of a humanoid figure comprised of solid light. Soon, she disappeared, leaving him in the cold darkness of the void that was his dream before a gentle touch on his shoulder woke the ancient human up.

It was Reri. "Something wrong?"

"Just a dream..." He sighed. "I'm worried, Reri. Worried about what's gonna happen to my people, if I can even call them that anymore... Seems like having any sort of belief outside what the Imperium tells you, whether religious or irreligious, is heretical."

"Mmm... That's why I've always loved living in Commorragh. Freedom, passion, all that glorious ability to do whatever you desire whenever you desire it... Truly a paradise, unlike your mon'keigh Imperium."

"Oh you..." He wrapped an arm around her, holding her tightly before giving her a soft kiss, slowly falling into the abyss of sleep once more.

* * *

 _Chamber of the Astronomican, Himalazian Mountains, Holy Terra, 0 981.999.M41_

Atrocities. Pernicious defiance to the rationale of natural law brought forth by individuals maddened with an insatiable lust for the blood of their fellow man. The Black Ships had come up in idle conversation, and through the information on board the cogitators of the _Cryptic Retribution_ , the millennial somewhat had an understanding of what he was to expect - another case of unexpected barbarism, As he was led through the lower levels of the chambers, through the tunnels of the great complex underneath the lifeless mountains once capped with snow, he noticed a doorway, tall and sealed with a set of gilded bars. "What's that?" He inquired to his guide, the Master of the Astronomican proper.

"That is the former laboratory where the Primarchs were forged. It has been closed for over ten thousand years. All remaining gene-seed of the Traitor Legions has been stored in the stasis fields of the gene-vaults beneath the facility, preserved so none may use them to forge more maleficent monstrosities." As they passed by, it made him wonder as to whether or not the gene-seed itself was corrupted - assumedly these stocks were from before the Horus Heresy. Marines made from them would be pure... wouldn't they?

Soon they stepped into the Astronomican chamber proper. Like a honeycomb, psykers were encased in differing 'cells,' their psychic energy slowly drawn away and channeled into the a massive obelisk-like structure in the center of the room, a structure that pulsed with such potent energy that he was forced to shield his eyes. "The Astronomican utilizes ancient technology to consume the energy of psykers and combine said power together, producing a potent fixed lighthouse in the Warp whose brightness and stability is controlled by the Emperor himself. Even ships at the fringes of the Imperium can travel safely thanks to the Navigators following this location as a reference."

"...did you ever consider a system of lesser beacons that don't eat thousands of these people alive every day?" He was thinking of a more widespread system. "With local beacons and whatnot."

"Such a system would not correlate properly to realspace thanks to the ever-shifting position of the Warp. Destruction of a single planet with such a miniature Astronomican upon it would prove catastrophic."

"I just..." He sighed, looking over the psykers as they gazed out of the cells. Many were aged by the process - some were naught but piles of dust that a crew of servitors swept away, inserting new individuals into the cells and beginning the process all over again. "This goes against everything I believe in."

"The Emperor weeps for what He must do... yet there is no other way. Without the Astronomican, humanity will be swept into a new Age of Strife once more."

"And there's no other way to go FTL without warp-diving? Come on, there has to be some sort of other way."

The Master nodded. "There are other methods of transport... but all are heretical. The Mechanicus would never allow it." Turning away in frustration, the millennial took his first step outside of the main chamber, grimacing in frustration - he had stayed there a mere few minutes, extraordinarily uneasy.

 _It doesn't have to stay like this forever._


	29. Chapter 31

_Imperial Palace, Holy Terra, 0 984.999.M41_

It went on forever, the hallway did... Even as he clung for dear life to the armor of the Custodes whose jet-bike he was riding on, he stared across the long hallway, seemingly hundreds of miles long. From afar, two gargantuan structures jutted from the floor, frozen in eternal solitude - the Warhoud Titan _Ploutonium Terra_ and its fellow, the Warhound Titan _Imperator Erinyes_. Both gargantuan war machines were directed outwards from a great gilded gate he spied at the ending of the long hallway. Doors, inexorably tall, stood like a barricade as the hour long ride finally came to an end. The legs of the millennial were a bit wobbly as the Custodes stabilized his passenger rather roughly, a gilded hand firmly settling on the shoulder of the artificer-armored one.

"Welp... This is it." He gulped, the massive door slowly opening as they slowly stepped towards it. Upon the other side was a man larger than any seen before - a man identified by the small strip of hair running down the middle of his shaved scalp.

"Commander Valdor... This is the man the Captain-General met with." The Custodian gave a nod to his superior, turning away and leaving the smaller human to the ancient companion of the Emperor himself. Slowly, he ecked his way in between the vault-like doors before staring down the throne room proper. At the far end of the room was... something. He couldn't tell from this distance, but it was golden and very large.

"I am Constantin Valdor, former High Lord of Terra and Commander of the Adeptus Custodes, the Emperor's finest warriors. The Captain-General spoke with me about you and the deeds you have performed. The Emperor sees much promise in you."

"Yeah... There's been a lot of luck involved." He sighed. "I haven't been too much of a fan of what's happened recently, to be honest. Just been killing whatever gets in my way." Hopefully for him, this meeting would allow for some degree of resolution to his grandiose adventure.

"I rarely leave the Imperial Palace... Rarer still are individuals brought before the Emperor. Is His Imperium functioning properly?"

"Fuck no." He growled. "The Imperium's one of the most disgusting organizations I've ever had the displeasure of seeing. It is inefficient, bloated with corruption, and full of senseless organizations that do nothing but leech from the citizenry in the name of the Emperor. I don't know what he did. I don't know whether he's a good person or a bad person. But I know the Imperium is almost a hundred percent unlike what he intended for it to be. I'm sure he'll flip shit when I tell him about his kids..."

"Some of the Primarchs still live?" The ancient hero inquired. "Who have returned?"

"Lion El'Jonson and Rogal Dorn... The first one I woke up from stasis when the Fallen Angels attacked the Rock. Fun times. Almost got killed by some Dark Angels until he calmed things down. Rogal Dorn I found inside the _Sword of Sacrilege_ , a ship one of that Abaddon guy's lieutenants was in charge of. His helmet's in my trophy room." Still they walked forward... How long it took to reach the Golden Throne proper, he was unsure, but even in the augmented power armor he wore, his legs were growing sore.

Soon, they finally reached the throne itself. Three hundred Custodes, their armor painted a somber black in contrast to Valdor's own(despite the years of guardianship having worn away to reveal gold underneath), stood around the skeletal figure, Guardian Spears at the ready every single second of their existence. They did not sleep, nor did they tire, nor did they age - they merely guarded. They were nary impervious, as history had shown time and time again - but being forged directly from the very life-blood of the Emperor himself, they shared in his nigh-eternal vigil.

One hundred and fifty of them stepped to each side, leaving a straight pathway leading towards the Emperor himself as the millennial looked on, following Valdor forward. What a sight the man was... Half of his head was replaced with a cybernetic optic. His head itself was dissicated to mummy-like proportions, his torso picked clean of all flesh except for some remnants around the outside of his ribs. His left arm remained, hand limply slumped on the armrest of the massive throne. His right arm remained on the throne as well, despite several cables being the only thing holding it in its socket. He wore decaying pants, long and flowing of silk that hid whatever was left of his feet. A myriad of tubes slid into the back of his flesh, pumping rejuvenat elixirs and preservative tinctures throughout his remains and keeping the few thousand cells in his body still active, a chain that linked his spirit to the realm of the Materium.

Constantin himself stepped away as the millennial walked up to the base of the throne, itself a good six feet tall. the tip of his head barely reached above foot-level, even with the armor he wore taken into consideration. For a long time he stared at the corpse, bringing a hand to his chin and scratching it. "Um... I'm pretty sure he's dead."

 _No._ A voice rang out within his mind, a voice that tore through whatever form of mental protection he had ever wielded. The voice sounded familiar, yet strange. _I still cling to this world... if barely._

"The fuck... How are you..." Even the skeletal jaw of the man himself hadn't moved, implying that the speech was directly forced within his head. Such was... horrifying. The feel of having no sanctuary within the crevasses of his mind being disturbing to him. "Get out of my head..."

 _I have no other option regarding communication._ The disembodied voice spoke, deep and staccato - at least, such was how he interpreted it. _My body has been crippled for ten millennia._

"Yeah, I heard..." He scratched at the back of his neck. "They kinda told the story in gruesome detail."

 _You were preserved for a reason._

"...what?" He knew about the preservation? About the many long centuries he had spent inside the cryogenic shell of the chilled pod that kept his flesh frozen? But how could such have been possible?

 _I knew that one day, you would have a part to play within my Imperium. You were not to be wasted as an asset to humanity._

"Wait a minute... Are you saying..."

 _That I was responsible for your entombment instead of letting your flesh slowly rot away over thousands of years inside the irradiated wasteland that became Terra?_

"You... You bastard." The Captain-General stood next to the slightly taller Valdor, a gasp emitting from his helmeted head. "You couldn't let my family have the burial they wanted? All because you thought your way was better, and that you wanted me to be used in your plans?"

 _They were given a life of luxury in compensation. I ensured it._

"And did you ever consider that perhaps I didn't want to end up a popsicle? That, I dunno... this sorta thing isn't meant to be fucking tinkered with?"

 _I hardly see your need for complaints. You wear armor and wield weapons those of your time would scarcely dream of. You are physically intact, after all - and you have been granted the power to make your every need a reality._

"I lost all my friends." He growled. "No one I ever knew is still alive and kicking. And do you know how fucked up of a galaxy we live in nowadays? With fucking Chaos-worshippers and space elves... I didn't need to know any of this shit existed."

 _Your part to play is important, millennial._ At least he accepted the man's nom de guerre. _The galaxy is in a tormented state. Humanity teeters on the bring of collapse. The science and reason of the Imperial Truth that I founded the Imperium of Man upon has slowly been eroded until all that remains is a state religion centered around the worship of me as a deity - something I did my best to avoid._

"Yeah, great job. You wanted an atheist society, and the moment you die, you become their god. Sounds like North Korea to me."

 _Though I regret to admit such, that final priest was indeed correct..._ It was as though for a moment, another memory of some sort took over.

 _"It is a dangerous road you travel. To deny humanity a thing will only make them crave it all the more. And if you succeed in this grand vision of yours? What then? Beware that your subjects do not begin to see you as a god._ " The words of Uriah Olathaire, shared from the ascendant human to the unfrozen, echoed a truth harshly learned.

"Well... Why don't you use your whole mindfuck powers to fix everything?"

 _Were it that simple, such would have occurred long before your awakening. I must remain here, sealing the Warp Rift within the Imperial Palace while simultaneously ensuring that the Astronomican is properly focused, allowing mankind safe travel throughout the stars. My project of allowing humanity access to the Webway has lain in ruins for millennia - travel through the Warp is the only method humanity will ever know._

"Okay... what happened? Why can't you get someone else to work on it?"

 _Again, I must maintain closure of the Warp Rift. My son, Magnus, attempted to use forbidden methods in an attempt to warn me of the treachery of Horus. In doing so, he shattered the psychic wards placed upon the Imperial Webway project and allowed it to be consumed by the daemonic entities of the Warp. The Custodes remain here not only to guard me from threat - but also to purge any entities that slip through._

"Um..." Refusal to accept the situation, he continued to think of options. "What about cloning? Or, I dunno... Transfer essence?" Though the latter was a fictitious skill, perhaps something could be done in such a manner.

 _Some are blessed with a fragment of my knowledge, but none may hold my full spiritual essence - my body has deteriorated too far for any body to be developed as a clone, as well.  
_

"But... But..." He sputtered. "But you can't just rot away here! If you're right, the moment you finally get snuffed, this Warp Rift opens and Earth is fucked. Fuck-fuck-fuckity-fucked. Everyone dies. No sorta happy ending, Chaos wins, we all die."

 _Such is why I have ensured you are brought before me. Now your position within my plans may be further revealed._

"So..." He flinched. "Are you gonna try and shove a bit of yourself into me?"

 _No. As a human from before the Age of Strife, you experienced a different humanity. A humanity that the people of the Imperium need to be exposed to. A humanity that may prove to be a potential key in the struggle against the enemies of our species. Though your attitude and beliefs are not those of the Imperial Truth, you are not a fanatic. You are a rational, logical human being who has succeeded based upon viewing situations placed before you through an archaic lens, one revealing to you knowledge of situations long forgotten. You were saved for this reason._

"...There's plenty of people who died. People far smarter than me. Why me?"

 _A certain individual believed you to be of worth. I obliged him._

"Who?"

 _Do you not wonder why you and your friends were given permission to enjoy a party amongst the relics of ancient history?_

"You weren't..."

 _You were the only one who actively reached out to him. The others were, as you would put it, "along for the ride." Your care for even the outcasts of humanity in unifying mankind proves itself as a unique quality. One that will find itself as a solid step in the future of the Imperium._

"How's that supposed to work? Huh? You're basically dead, and I'm ninety-nine percent sure the majority of the Imperium either hates me, views me as a threat, or considers anything I say to be heretical. How're you going to change that?"

 _You will have use of resources offered to none of my servants before you - resources I myself once utilized many millennia ago to unify mankind. With these assets, you shall forge a new way forward for humanity._ _Now, I must return to my focus... but know this, millennial. Though I may not respond directly to your requests or suggestions, know that wherever you are, I am always listening._

"Please not in the sack... You don't want to know what goes on there..."

 _Understandable._

With that, he turned away, eyes locking onto Constantin Valdor himself, as well as the Captain-General. "What did he mean by 'resources?'"

"I assume such a revelation shall be made known to us by the Emperor in due time." The High Lord responded. "Your presence has been appreciated, but for now, it is time for you to go."

A soft nod elaborated further on the views of the human amongst demigods as he turned away, but before completely preparing for the long walk, he tossed out a suggestion. "Did you ever consider giving him some way to talk? I dunno, some sorta Stephen Hawking text-to-speech device?"

"Perhaps we will integrate such into the Golden Throne... though it is becoming ever harder to maintain." Soon, all would return to normal. Soon the millennial would return to his freighter. It would be as though little had changed. How little, one could barely know - but as he turned back towards the resplendent form of his skeletal liege, the Captain-General pondered over the thought placed within his mind.

"A text-to-speech device... I wonder..."


	30. Chapter 32

_Armed Freighter Cryptic Retribution, in orbit over Holy Terra, 1 990.999.M41_

Upon his return to the freighter he now called home, the millennial found that he had received a private message, accessible only through the usage of his Inquisitorial rosette. While the information within seemed truly bizarre, there had to be a reason the unknown sender had provided him with it. Pressing a button on the intercom in his quarters, he rang up the only knowledgeable individual he could think of. "Dalia... Would you be a dear and meet me in my quarters?"

Soon after the message was sent, the doors opened as the tech-priest stepped into the room, her robes rolled up to showcase the pulsating electoos whose nigh-invisible circuitry coated the entirety of her flesh. "You required my presence?"

"Yeah..." He pointed to the screen of the cogitator behind him. "I've got some data here I can't figure out. You're a techie. Any chance you can tell me what it is?"

Sitting down in front of the screen, she further examined the information, eyes practically scanning left and right across whatever secret lay concealed inside the patterns of strange glyphs and unusual shapes. All that came to an end with a sudden gasp as she took a step back, turning to the elder human. "Where... How did you get this?"

"No idea... found it on my comp when I got back?" His face twisted to one of concern. "Um... Something wrong? You look like you've seen one of those spooky scary skeletons."

"This... This is information. Information written in the data-language of the Adeptus Custodes. Very few tech-priests know of it, let alone are capable of telling what it means. From what I can determine, though..." She froze, fingers grazing softly across the screen. "This is a message detailing info regarding an Alpha Crusade."

"...and that means?"

"A crusade to end all crusades. Copious quantities of men, machines, and raw resources gathered together for the sole purpose of killing an alien foe of tremendous threat to the Imperium. Or the gathering of units to preemptively strike at the forces of Chaos embedded deep within the Eye of Terror. This notice says not what the crusade is to be for... Only that it is to be forged with purpose granted by the Emperor. Furthermore..."

"There's more?"

"Yes... Furthermore, for the first time in ten millennia..." She could hardly believe the data encrypted within the message. "A force of one thousand Custodes shall be committed to this endeavour in the Emperor's name, replete with the entirety of their equipment. If this is true... then you have been tasked with the formation of something of such importance that the Emperor himself has given input upon it."

For a moment, a spark of purpose and happiness ignited within the millennial's heart. Now was the opportunity to use the assets at his disposal to make the galaxy a better place, for humanity and those who chose to stick beside it, not senselessly declaring war upon mankind just for existing.

Then he was reminded of his place. To the Emperor, he was naught but a pawn within the grand scheme of uniting the galaxy under human control through any means necessary. Such once more snuffed out whatever form of joy was entrenched within his heart, replaced with a cold-forged sense of reluctance, a desire to break free from bonds infinitely long. The only hope of freedom was that the Emperor would grant him such when his work was done, in retirement... or in death.

"Alright... What else does this message give us to work with?"

"A password, one that has been remotely uploaded to your rosette. Evidently, this password is... to the original gene-lab. The place where the Traitor gene-seed is stored, where the Thunder Warriors and the Primarchs themselves were once forged. You have practically been given a key to one of the most sacred places in the Imperium."

"Well, what's the point of using a gene-lab and that gene-seed stuff inside?"

"Astartes. With gene-seed and individuals knowledgeable in its usage, new chapters of Astartes may be created... assuming anything left from the traitor stocks has remained stable." Such was the simplest method of explanation, after all.

"So I have to go _back_ there? Are they just gonna let me walk in all hunky-dory and get to work?" His views were rather pragmatic.

"I suppose I can go with you... Your reservations do make sense considering your lack of experience with gene-seed. I also should be able to make use of any information contained within the gene-lab itself, assuming it has been adequately preserved."

"Sweet... Let's get started. The sooner we can get this shit going, the better."

* * *

 _Genetic Laboratory, Imperial Palace, Holy Terra, 0 991.999.M41_

The process for returning had been reasonably painless. The Custodes had not bothered him, allowing him down a passage lit merely by the light of a series of self-sustaining torches. Throughout the hallways, one of which he knew led to the Astronomican chamber, many curious artifacts were arranged in glass cases - a suit of power armor, a bolter... Some were relics from even before his time, such as a suit of ancient feudal plate, or a book written in High Gothic that seemed dated almost thirty-nine millennia back. An artifact along the way drew a gasp from the ancient human as he recognized it. "The Rosetta Stone... How the fuck did this end up down here?" Dalia gave her best look of unknowing before the two proceeded along the path to a single massive door, ornately engraved with a series of circles inlaid in the gaps of a lightning-like emblem. Many of the symbols seemed familiar - a bird, a snake, a wolf, an angel... though two appeared to have intentionally been gouged out at some point. Some still remained of their insignia, yet not enough to tell what they were.

Slowly, he felt along the door, looking for some sort of latch or hook that he would need to tug at in order to open the vault-like barrier... only for the door to fold inward, its hinge more blatantly revealed. As the room was revealed, copious quantities of queer genetics equipment coming into view, lights flickered on for the first time in over ten thousand years as ancient equipment powered on.

A dataslate rested on the center of the floor above a semi-recessed cubic structure that seemed to almost visibly pulsate. Curious as always, the millennial picked up the slab of information, reading over its contents.

 _EC - 1845 - Stable  
IW - 3394 - Stable  
NL - 5396 - Stable  
WH - 2154 - Stable  
DR - 4853 - Stable  
TS - 983 - Stable  
LW - 3849 - Stable  
IH - 19572 - Corrupted, Do Not Use  
AL - 1983 - Stable_

"Huh." He shrugged. "Must have something to do with the gene-seed." He handed the dataslate over while trying to figure out how to open the box. "This look useful to you?"

"Strange..." Dalia paused, finding herself confused. "The traitor legions all had approximately the same amount of gene-seed in storage at the time of the Heresy..."

"...which implies they've been using it?"

"The gene-seed is not in itself corrupt... Sans that of the Word Bearers. I do find it curious as to why they would keep around such poisonous genetic material."

"I guess we can't do paternity tests to track down founding chapters, can we?" He sighed.

"No... Though there may be a degree of similarity, enough chapters have been made over the millennia that subtle alterations to their gene-seed may have led to impossible to discern divergences. Still... What remains within here could potentially be utilized against the enemies of the Imperium, were we to utilize them to forge new chapters."

"And what if the Mechs say 'nope, no new chapters for you?'"

"That is a matter to take up with the High Lords of Terra. For now, I suggest we focus on whatever information we can find on the Thunder Warriors." The tech-priest opened and closed whatever drawers she could find, hunting for a key, some sliver of information that could prove useful to their cause. That the answer was not so forthcoming proved somewhat agitating to the woman as the two continued to hunt for data.

Until a page was found. And another. And another. Split across the room, hidden in the gaps and crevasses, were pieces of what had at one point been some sort of journal. Notes hand-written in a language unknown to either of the individuals slowly compiled by the only thing the millennial understood - page numbers and a dual lightning strike across the rended cover. This was what they were looking for, but it was of no use to them if neither could understand what was locked away within the assembled tome's pages.

Gathering the parts of the informational read together in order, ensuring not a piece was missing, the two exited the lab. "Well, this sucks. I don't speak calligraphy."

"What is calligraphy?"

"Old style of language in the Middle East. Never studied it. Bunch of countries used to use it or some derivative of it." As they stepped out of the massive door, sealing it shut behind them as lights flickered to darkness again, they knew that this would more than likely be a dead end. Dalia knew of the most recent founding and its minimal production of Astartes chapters, and if neither of them could find the language of the book, it was merely another relic to add to the human's growing collection of trophies and artifacts.

Returning to his room, the helmet of Devram Korda resting on a desk in front of him, he leaned back in his chair before a stern knock on his doors returned him to the realm of reality. "Yeah, come on down."

It was Lia. She sternly stepped into his room, resting her palms on his desk as she glared at him, her head briefly turning towards the helm of the Chaos Champion before knocking it off the table. "Your depths of heresy have no bounds, do they?"

"That depends. What sorta bounds you thinking of?"

"You have the Chaos artifacts of a champion of the ruinous powers!" She yelled, pointing at the headgear that awkwardly rested on the floor of the room. "I know about those daemonic automatons you're keeping in the cargo hold. "Only bad can come from them, you heretic..."

"Oy, watch yourself..." He reached for the rosette. "You've got the touch, but I've got the power. Don't do something you'll regret... Not when I'm here trying to help you out..."

"Help me fall to the talk of heretics and xenos, you mean. Those many years of purifying will never be tainted."

"They didn't purify you for shit, you bolter-bitch!" He finally yelled at her, unable to contain himself anymore. "I WOULD'VE THOUGHT YOU'D HAVE AT LEAST A SINGLE FUCKING SHRED OF DECENCY CONSIDERING I'M TRYING TO HELP YOUR BRAINWASHED ASS GET BACK TO NORMAL!" She scarcely recoiled, remaining stern even as he unleashed his fury upon her. "Only the most depraved fucks of my time would even THINK of doing something as fucked up as what they did to you. Purification my ass... You didn't uncoercedly consent to it, you didn't ask for it. If it was my time..." He thought back to a time of nations united, a time where an individual would be sentenced to an eternity behind cold hard steel for even attempting such a crime against humanity. Nowadays, no one batted an eyelash.

"Know this... You _will_ suffer for this heresy, millennial. I'll make sure of it." Turning away, the human smiled as he watched her leave in a huff. Seeing her enraged was a humorous sight considering the conditions, after all. With a last vocalization, he responded to her threat with verbage he felt was, at least considering the present, something particularly appropriate.

"Bitch please..."


	31. Chapter 33

_Armed Freighter Cryptic Retribution, in orbit over Holy Terra, 1 993.999.M41_

There was nothing more that the millennial wanted to do than to get away from Terra. The planet gave him far too many bad memories... memories of people, good and bad, he would never see again. As loathe as he was to say it, he wanted to see the people who'd harassed or bullied him almost as much as he wanted to see his closest friends. There was an aura of familiarity that was now and forever lost, something irretrievable he could never, ever get back. The constant pressure of knowing he would never truly fit into this time - its maddening teachings and layer upon layer of death and destruction - pressed so hard upon his psyche that it took a constant level of cognizant thought to keep him from breaking down and curling up into the fetal position, tears streaming down his face.

Yet that was what he was doing. His quarters were sealed to his voice command only, and he had curled up on the floor, squeezing himself into the farthest corner of the room as he sobbed, the metallic floor glistening with the sweet saline of his somber tears. "Mom... Dad..." he whispered quietly, knowing that it was thousands of years too late for them to ever hear anything he said. He had tried his best to hold things together, to remain the sole bastion of now-ancient humanity in these warped times... and it was taking everything out of him. All his effort... even his sanity was being slowly picked apart by the combination of murderous xenos and tainted heresy, either of which seemed to, through some form, fill the galaxy.

A knock at the door partially brought him back to his senses. "Go away..." He sobbed, forcing out barely comprehensible words from his lips even as more tears dripped down his cheeks, bleeding into the fabric of his already soaked undershirt.

"I have something important for you..." The voice of Dalia arrived from the other side of the door. Grabbing onto the corner of the crude metal night stand with his cogitator next to it, he hefted himself to a standing position before slowly stepping towards the door.

"Come... Come in." He uttered those two words just before falling back onto his bed, the lack of a baseboard proving useful as the tech-priest entered the room, looking down on him as his head leaned to one side, tears soiling his blanket.

"What... What's wrong?" She frowned, looking over at him with a face betraying only the slightest hint of concern.

"Not much..." He sniffled. "Just... Just remembering that everyone I know is dead... and that I'll never get to see my family and friends again."

She sat down next to him, bringing a hand down to firmly grasp his own. "Don't think like that... I know how you feel. I remained there within the Noctus Labyrinthus for over ten thousand years. You were fortunate to have the transition pass in the blink of an eye... I spent every moment of my time alone, isolated from the rest of the galaxy, unable to lift a finger to change the fortunes of even the lowliest of individuals. The Emperor's power sustained me... now I only live because of the technology integrated within my flesh." A pulse of energy down her arm reminded him of how infused with cybernetics she truly was. "Please... never forget about your purpose. Never forget that despite all that happens, you still will one day make a difference in the life of someone, be they mighty or weak. And when you make that difference, everything will change. It may change only imperceptibly, but change will be inevitable."

Slowly, he brought his arms to his sides, trying his best to get to an upright position as the tears slowly began to dry up. He blinked several times to clear his vision up, turning to look at the woman whose empathy was somewhat surprising. "Th... thanks. You have no idea how much I've needed to hear someone say that." He raised his hands to his eyes, wiping away the residue as he moved to take his shirt off, tossing it aside for the laundry servitors to pick up on their daily rounds. "So, um... what was it you wanted to tell me?"

She paused for naught but a microsecond before elaborating. "We have received a message from a... less than savory source."

"Who?"

"Babu Dhakal. One of the most notorious crime lords on the face of Terra, ersatz ruler of the Petitioner's City. He has been the dominant influence there and elsewhere within the criminal underhive of Terra for almost ten thousand years." She paused. "He has eyes throughout the planet. Some claim his agents can be found even within the Imperial Palace itself. Whatever the case, he has found out about you... about what you require." She grimaced.

"So he knows we need Thunder Warriors, or at the least, someone who knows how to work with gene-seed?"

"I have no idea how he would know this, but evidently. He requests that you come alone, to meet him in the heart of the Petitioner's City. The claim he makes is that he wields the knowledge we require to succeed in the development of the Emperor's ancient warriors. I caution against going... The chances of this being some sort of trap are incredulously high."

"Then again, what if he actually knows something? You said he's been around for... how long was it? Several thousand years?"

"Ten thousand, yes."

"And what are the chances of it being the same guy?"

"Tremendously low... though there is still a possibility. One could assume him to be a Custodes, operating operations on behalf of the Emperor, but why would one of the most noble and devout of individuals associate himself with criminal scum for so long?"

The millennial gave a loud sigh, coughing up a bit of sadness still left in his heart. "I'll do it. I don't see any way of us getting the necessary resources aside from me hunting down people who might be interested in this. A thousand Custodes are great and all, but there are what, zillions of things that could fuck us up? Not to mention I don't think Custodes can survive in space, which they'll have to if our ship gets blown up."

"You do have the power of an Inquisitor... why not exert it?"

"I've already got plenty of people who hate my fucking guts. You really want me to give them an excuse to work together to fuck my shit over? The Emperor isn't gonna be saving me if that shit happened."

"Do you see any other option?" She raised her hands, exasperated. "Sometimes, force is required so that humanity may further advance along the proper evolutionary pathway... social-wise, at least." She stood up, moving towards the door. "He wishes to see you within a solar cycle. If you are sincere about this, I will tell the hangar crew to warm up the Arvus Lighter for you. And while you fritter about... I will get us some ships."

* * *

 _Petitioner's City, Underhive of Terra, 0 995.999.M41_

Here he was. Unassuming as he might've been, he had rather sloppily repainted his armor, leaving sections unpainted in order to help the plates of carapace armor appear to be nothing more than scavenged ceramite taken off the body of a fallen Arbites. Still he wielded the power maul, fully charged and ready for use along with the Volkite Serpenta that hung from his side. The weapon immediately caught the eye of a group of gangers that moved to block his way further down the path.

"Nice gun." Their leader pointed to the weapon - a man easily six and a half feet tall, arms exposed with an autogun over his back. Not trying to cause trouble, he nodded.

"Yeah, it looks good."

"Give it." The group of gangers raised their weapons - a cocktail of autoweapons and las-weapons. "This is our place. You gimme the gun, or you gimme your head. Either way I'll be happy."

A hand reached the Volkite, a grimace on his lips as the millennial pondered his options. He could either give away the prized weapon, or he could be fight back despite overwhelming odds. He chose the latter option... but before even raising it up halfway, the Volkite fell from his hand as a hail of slugs and lasers flew towards him. Though many of the pellets ricocheted off his armor, a couple wedged themselves into the joints - his right arm fell limp as his left burned with pain - agonizing pain that made him wince as he stepped back. The bursts of carapace armor vaporized by the intense energy of the lasguns sent him over the edge as he fell back, ailing arm grasping at his good one as the head ganger grasped the Volkite, pressing it barrel-first into his neck as the millennial's helmet was ripped off.

"You thought you could actually get rid of us? Play the hero? News flash... you're just a pathetic little man whose remaining days will be as a head on my trophy wall." The ganger's finger reached the weapon's trigger as the millennial closed his eyes.

 _Mom... Dad... I guess I'll finally get to see you again. I hope, anyways..._

It was not to be, however. A very familiar noise rang through the alleyway, the noise of a bolter being fired. The man before him slumped forward, head shattered and gibs of blood and tissue spread across his face as he shoved the corpse off him, grabbing his Volkite and firing it at the gangers who were running away, downing a couple in the process. When they were out of sight, he grimaced, leaning back and staring up to see the scarred face of a man wearing power armor.

"This is... gonna be one of those days... isn't it..." The wounds he had suffered were serious enough that he soon fell unconscious, turned to trance by the agony. It was as that he would sleep, resting peacefully in a state of stasis, unaware of Ghota slinging his body and weapons over his shoulder and taking the human to his master.

Babu Dhakal.

* * *

 _Dhakal Laboratory, Holy Terra, 0 996.999.M41_

He shook his head. Naked he was, strapped to a table with little chance of escape. The inside of his elbow had a sealed scar, as did the entire length of his right arm. He grimaced, wincing as he felt his fingers spasmodically move. His torso was in equally rough shape, the steel comprising his torso now pitted and torn from the lasgun bursts that had pierced the carapace armor. Though he shifted a bit further, the pain came back in full force, and he was forced to stop.

"Relax." A familiar voice rang out - it was that of Dalia herself, followed by the tall man in power armor he had seen before passing out. "You're going to be alright... Your body will be somewhat scarred, but it's rather doubtful you will need an arm or leg removed. Your right arm was paralyzed, however. I inserted a small band of sub-dermal electro-bonding wire in your arm to splice the nerves back together... but it will take several months for your body to accept it as though it were natural nerve tissue." She stepped aside, letting the power armored human look him over - he looked like a Space Marine, yet appeared even taller.

"Hardly what he expected. Still, Lady Cythera confesses that the stories about what you have done are indeed true. When you are ready, I will take you to him."

"To who?"

"To Babu Dhakal... though you may know him as Arik Taranis."


	32. Chapter 34

_Dhakal Laboratory, Holy Terra, 0 996.999.M41_

The millennial slowly twitched his arm, freed from the bonds of the medical table as he tested the splint Dalia had put into his arm, restoring its function. For now, he winced as he moved it, only able to keep his hand either fully clenched or loosely open. Still, some functionality was better than none as he slowly rotated his arm, grimacing as the sautered scar strained against the flesh welded together through some medical process even he knew nothing of. Regardless of the results, he was here for the meeting, as was intended. So he would meet with Arik Taranis - or Babu Dhakal, whoever he truly was. Grasping a black robe with his rosette hanging around a chain, he slowly slipped it on, a pair of somewhat comfortable slippers finding themselves on his feet as he began to walk with the inhuman bodyguard and the tech-priest.

"So, what exactly _is_ a Thunder Warrior?" Ghota turned to him, the noise of his powered armor slowing to a dull groan as he stopped moving.

"You know nothing about our kind?"

"Um... no. I'm just a pawn in ol' Empy's big galactic chess game. Kinda been asleep for a couple, I dunno... tens of thousands of years. I was sleeping that whole time." Though truthful, he did come off somewhat crass.

"Very well... I will tell you what I can before I bring you before my master." Ghota began. "We were the initial vanguard of new men, brought forth from the Emperor's gene-labs to destroy the techno-barbarian warlords of Terra and unite the world under his rule. While we appear similar to those your Imperium calls Space Marines, having similarly engineered organ layouts, we are stronger. More powerful. We were based off the Primarchs, as they were, but our augments were derived from the initial Primarch sample itself - not those derived from the Twenty. Though it provided us with superior strength, the processes used to forge our bodies were unstable, resulting in lifespans a fraction of that of an Astartes."

"Makes sense... but why don't they use you guys anymore? If you're better at fighting..."

"The Emperor considered us to be failed prototypes for the Legions. Such was why we were brought together for the last great battle, a campaign against the final warlords who refused His will. Ararat was where we fought, and Ararat was where we were betrayed." He gave a somber, chilled glance. "Many of us were slaughtered by those brought forth to replace us. Arik was the reason I survived. He gathered us together, brought us underground, away from the eyes of the star-scrying Imperium. The Dhakal group provides those who remain with a sense of brotherhood long lost... and influence as well."

"Wait... you said you guys don't last that long, right?" The millennial had a query that was slowly comprising itself. "Like what, a hundred years?"

"Thunder Warriors often considered themselves fortunate to survive to the age of seventy, if that. The augments made our DNA more and more unstable as time passed. It was only through the knowledge of genetics Arik held from his time at the side of the Emperor that we were able to cling to life, each day growing more and more agonizing."

"But that doesn't make any sense." He sighed. "Even that sorta knowledge can't keep you alive forever... what gives?" They stopped at a large metal door, heavily rusted, with a strange symbol upon it.

"I will let him elaborate further." Ghota opened the door, revealing a man even larger than he, seated on a throne forged of what seemed to be a tremendous block of iron. Dalia and the millennial stepped forward, the Thunder Hammer of the warrior behind them loosely dropping to his side as he watched them step towards his liege.

"I see you received my summons." The ancient hero of the Imperium sat still, his gravely voice sending a queer shudder down the spine of the injured human. "My agents notify me that you require knowledge. Information regarding a subject no mere mortal would know about... the creation and use of gene-seed."

"Yeah... Basically it." He looked at his robe, feeling within the massive central pocket as relief ran over him - his weapons were safe. "I suppose we're going to have to make a deal?"

"Your understanding of how this business works knows no bounds." If he didn't know better, he would've said that the ancient warrior was being sarcastic. "Here is the deal I offer you."

"I wield an understanding of genetics unmatched by those in the Imperium. All I learned came from the most knowledgeable of humans. If you wish for someone to assist you with the creation of the implants needed to make a man into a Thunder Warrior, I will assist you. My knowledge of the implantation process may carry to Astartes as well, depending on what variations have been made over the years with their gene-seed. Accept my assistance, and your armies shall wield men bred for battle."

"Okay..." He nodded. "What do you want from me?"

"I require very little from you, truthfully. Only that those forged in the image of me and my brothers be chosen for the process by my selection alone, as well as your allowance of ten brethren of mine to accompany you - to 'receive' your soldiers as they are formed, to train them as they were trained many millennia ago." He gave no hint as to his motivation for such a request - only that it was what he would require. "For your successors... You may select those to be placed through the procedure. I doubt the Mechanicus shall refuse a new Founding of Astartes considering the current situation of the Imperium."

"...don't tell me you have agents everywhere..." The man sighed, pondering over the possibilities.

"I know of what awaits you. I know of the incursions within the space of the Imperium by the species of alien known as the Tyranids. I know that the greatest of the Ork hordes is forming. I know of the threat of the Necrons, of the traitor forces who fled within that anomaly. I even know of the xenos species some humans have considered an intriguing power. This is why I have chosen to make the offer I have - such is a mutually beneficial relationship."

"Fuck it, seems like we have a deal." He twitched his arm, slowly reaching out his hand, soon met by the massive grasp of the Thunder Warrior. Even the weak grasp of the superhuman made his jaw open in pain, his semi-paralyzed arm causing such agony that his teeth were grinding together. "Ten Thunder Warriors should be helpful, certainly."

"Very well. Now go. You will have your men on board your vessel by tomorrow. Our business is concluded." He nodded. "Ghota, go with him."

"My lord...?" The Thunder Warrior turned to his master, finding a cold and merciless glare waiting for him.

"Do not question me. You know why I have chosen you."

A nod of understanding responded to the former champion's words as the armored man left his liege, exiting the palace with the human and the tech-priest. There would be no further harassment, no hail of las- or gunfire. Only an unorthodox group that grew ever larger. As time went on, more of the assets unused in the Imperium would hopefully find use as a part of the crusade. Perhaps even assets that the Imperium believed were no more, or were useless.

Then again, such a concept was heresy.

* * *

 _Armed Freighter Cryptic Retribution, in orbit over Holy Terra, 1 998.999.M41_

The other nine Thunder Warriors had arrived - all were imposing, wearing the archaic armor of the Unification Wars as bolters rested in their hands. Every second of their time on the freighter seemed to further an underlying rage that only swelled with each step they took. That such ancient warriors still lived shocked the Lions Viridian who assisted with the vessel's protection and operation - more than once the millennial caught them wide-eyed with awe as one of the ancient soldiers walked past.

The Sororitas, on the other hand, viewed them with suspicion. If the God-Emperor of Mankind had removed them from use, it was for a reason - a reason the Thunder Warriors kept to themselves intentionally. Though Ghota and Arik Taranis himself had elaborated a bit on it, still much was shrouded. So far as warriors went, however, they appeared to be very skilled.

Though he was loathe to consider such, the forces required were important enough that he felt they were needed sooner rather than later. A message was sent from the cocktail of heavily modified communications suites on board the vessel, installed long ago by Cypher to facilitate private communication the Unforgiven could not so easily access. Forcing his Inquisitorial Rosette within the central communication cogitator, he pondered over what sort of message needed to be released. The code attached to the message would ensure its retransmission throughout the Imperium, though the speed of transmission through astropathic choirs would potentially increase the time spent waiting for responses.

Turning to Dalia, he gave a soft sigh, frustrated at the lack of planning out the message. He was unsure what to request when leading a crusade, after all... All he knew was the basics of what they would need - supplies, weapons, men, and ships. Vehicles were a potential add-on. "Hey... Could you help me with this?"

"Gladly." She sat down in his place, cracking her knuckles in preparation as she began to type out a message upon the cogitator.

 _To those within the Imperium,  
_

 _By the power invested within me as a member of the Emperor's holy Inquisition, I hereby declare a crusade of Alpha grade, a war against the alien, the heretic, and the mutant. I request whatever forces may be spared, no matter the condition, no matter the morale. An Imperial force of tremendous might shall be forged with a strength unseen since the Emperor Himself walked upon the land of Holy Terra. I have received pledges of support from the Custodians of the Emperor, but require more personnel in order to wage this battle. Give me your broken, your torn, your derelict, and I shall shape them into a potent military force, the likes of which shall compare to the Solar Auxilia. Respond to this message should you have resources to spare._

 _Inquisitor Millennium_

Inquisitor Millennium... A binary falsehood. Certainly he wielded the power of the Inquisition as though he were a member, but in truth, he was not a part of their organization - though perhaps he was unknowing about his condition. Millennium was not his real name, though his identity would die with him in due time - the pseudonym did admittedly serve as a proper substitute, though he desired not to accept it. The tech-priest's finger hovered over the button that would send the message, a button that he knew would force him to the forefront were she to press it.

"Do it."

The deed was done. The message was sent. Now it was time to wait and see what sort of response would be drummed up.

"We can scarcely run this crusade from a freighter... however, I believe I know of a place where we can adequately acquire the necessary starships for our crusade. It is a place that I have only heard of, in between the world of Mars and Jupiter... a place where many Imperial vessels were put to rest due to the blemish of their class records."

"A ship graveyard?"

"Essentially... but as you have seen, ships can survive for many years within the vacuum of space. These vessels will provide us something to work with, should we acquire the manpower to arm them."

"Very well..." The millennial nodded, standing up slowly, trying not to put weight on his damaged arm. "Your lead, Miss Cythera."


	33. Chapter 35

_Oort Cloud, 0 999.999.M41_

In between the void of darkness at the outer edges of the Sol system was a yard. This yard, barely defined from a small ring of debris, was where all ancient Imperial starships that had, even by their standards, fallen derelict were housed. Many of the vessels appeared to be fully physically intact - though he had no knowledge of their histories, Dalia did - the vessels were almost entirely of classes known to the average naval officer of the Imperium as ones commonly utilized by Chaos forces. The _Cryptic Retribution_ passed by a lifeless Claymore-class Corvette, its nearly one and a half kilometer length still imposing even as whatever weapon batteries had not been stripped by salvagers glistened in the light of the freighter's engines.

"I'm... not even sure if there's really anything we can use here." He gave a bewildered expression. "As-is, we have a thousand Custodes, ten thunder warriors, a freighter's worth of non-Chaos-worshipping Hereteks, and a demi-company of Lions Viridian. We couldn't reactivate one of the small ships, let alone all of them."

"Have faith. They will come out of a sense of duty and obligation... I assure you." The vessel drifted past the pitted hull of a gargantuan battleship, main weapon still intact.

"What's that?"

"A Desolator-class Battleship. The Imperium removed them from service millennia ago - only Chaos uses them now. They wield almost the firepower of a Retribution-class Battleship... very capable vessels despite the survivors' alignment."

"How many ships do you estimate are here?"

She turned from him, a smile growing on her face - it was the first time she had smiled in a long while. "Enough to function as a naval unit comparable to a battlefleet."

"And where do we get the resources to keep them running? They can't possibly run forever with nothing done to them, can they? I know they've been frozen in the void of space, but still..."

"Have faith. You would not have been granted this writ of crusade if you were not believed to be capable."

"But I'm not capable." His voice cracked, discouragement seeping in once more. "All I have to my name is common sense. Sure, that tells me the only way to kill a Chaos Lord is to shoot his unarmored face at a range I can't miss - but every fiber of my being says this is a bad idea. They could give me the entire Imperial Navy and I'd have no idea what the fuck to do with it, let alone how to lead a crusade." Sulking, he sat down on the floor, still looking out the window.

"I don't deserve this. Any of this. There are so many people from my time who're damn well deserving of this - hell of a lot more deserving than me at the least." He sighed. "I'm no paragon of the human race. Hell, I never went out of my way to help starving kids in Africa or start a business. My grades weren't even that good."

"Yet you have that common sense I hear you speak of time and time again... a viewpoint to the world none born in this day and age would ever experience. Do you know what a normal Inquisitor would have done when fighting against that Chaos Champion you talked about? Instead of shooting him in the head, they would have pulled out a power sword and likely attempted to duel him - a fruitless endeavour considering the false deity worshiped by the traitors."

"Well the guy had a pair of giant chainsaw axes... I just assumed that Star Wars physics didn't apply where a direct energy weapon would be totally absorbed or deflected through some bullshit means. Would've been hilarious to see him try and block the blasts, though..." The freighter passed by a Murder-class Cruiser as it continued to travel through the wispy detritus at the edge of Sol.

"So, how do we get the people to crew these things? And do we really want all our ships to be ones once used by Chaos? I don't want some fucking crazy-ass admiral coming out of nowhere with a whole 'purge the heretics' spiel."

"The lack of symbols and Chaotic corruption should be more than enough of a sign to any sane individual."

"You're forgetting, though." He sighed, continually glancing outside the window. "No one in the Imperium is truly sane... not from what I've seen." Too much of a generalization on his part, truthfully - the Astartes were seemingly more sane about the Imperium's state of affairs than the average politician, or even the normal citizen. Most in the Mechanicus were obsessed with knowledge, despite some more rational individuals being within the organization... Ruthless Inquisitors and Judges hardly reinforced his beliefs about humanity.

"The definition of sanity has changed over millennia. Many would consider you to be the insane one." Considering the wide variety of queer goings-on that had occurred to him over the time he had spent awake in the strange new world of the forty-first century, such was at least somewhat true.

"Shit, that reminds me, we have any messages back from anyone we sent the messages to?" Dalia raised an eyebrow, stepping over to the nearby cogitator and initializing its systems, looking for something, anything back from anyone that had received the message she had sent out on the millennial's behalf. Surprisingly, there were several, the two looking over the messages and examining their contents.

 _Inquisitor,  
My regards to your crusade. Though we are but five, the Astral Knights desire an end to our chapter in the service of the Emperor while still bearing the crossed blades of our battle-brothers. We wish to join your forces to further the goals of the Emperor with our last fragments of strength. Soon, the end will come for us, and I desire to be at the side of the Emperor with my brothers, knowing that we performed admirably.  
Ave Imperator,  
Sergeant Castillus_

"Astral Knights?" He scratched his head. "Who're they?"

"A lost chapter of Astartes. They were responsible for the destruction of a Necron superweapon. Of the seven hundred and seventy-two Astral Knights who assaulted the World Engine, a mere five survived the battle. The chapter has been declared deceased for years now." Though the valor of the men was hardly able to be described in a mere pair of sentences, the millennial deserved to be somewhat enlightened.

"What about this one?" He pointed to a notice from a Captain Teryn.

 _To the Inquisitor who sent this message,  
If your crusade consists of purging the heretics responsible for the destruction of our Chapter, I shall gather whatever battle-brothers of the Black Consuls I may find to join you. We are scattered thanks to the iconoclastic efforts of the heretical Word Bearers, but we are not defeated - it will be an honor to purge the heretic at your side.  
May the Emperor stand with you,  
Captain Teryn, 7th Company_

"Black Consuls..."

"Successor chapter of the Ultramarines. They are considered lost but have not been officially disbanded - still their chapter banner has yet to be taken to the Hall of Heroes."

"So they're sort of like almost-poster-boys for the Imperium." He attempted to rephrase what he had said in order to make it more easily understood. "That is, they're up and out there. You know, one of the chapters the Imperium points to when they say 'hey, this is a chapter everyone should try to be like.'"

"In a manner of speaking... Shall we continue to examine what is before us?"

"Sounds like a plan to me." He pointed to a message. "Huh... Mantis Warriors? The fuck..."

 _To whom it may concern,  
Our time upon the crusade of penitence is coming to an end. To showcase to the Emperor our desire for redemption over our past sins, we wish to spend the remainder of our time as part of your crusade - a period of twelve years, in your service. I have spoken to my brother, Chapter Master Arkash Hakkon of the Executioners, and he agrees that both of our chapters should best serve the end of our punishment within your entourage. Numbers may be beneficial as well - our chapter has lost many Astartes during our Crusade, as have the Executioners.  
The Emperor guide you,  
Chapter Master Audin_

The millennial was giggling at the name of the Chapter, but soon quieted down in curiosity. "What're they on crusade for? They want to?"

"Both chapters, along with the Lamenters, sided with the traitorous Huron Blackheart and the Red Corsairs - formerly the chapter known as the Astral Claws - during the Badab War. As punishment, they were stripped of their homeworlds and sent on a hundred year penance crusade - during which they are, by order of the High Lords of Terra, unable to recruit individuals or replace those who fall in the line of duty. Only the Emperor may determine their fate.

"Sad story..." He sighed. "I don't really have much time for this, Who else did we get something from? Care to abridge it for me?"

"Let's see..." She quickly scrolled through the list. "The Knights of Blood seem to have an interest in participating. So too do the few remnants of the Star Scorpions." Still she proceeded on. "The Crimson Castellans, broken as they are, wish to be involved in order to fight against Tyranids and traitors alike." An intriguing message appeared. "A message from Inquisitor Staven Arcturos. Evidently he wishes to contribute a pair of Blackshields from his personal retinue..."

"Good, the more the merrier... How many do you suppose that is?"

"Approximately two thousand Astartes, considering how broken the fragmented chapters are. The only one willing to support you at reasonably full strength is the Knights of Blood... a chapter declared renegade many decades ago."

"So renegades want in... aren't they Chaos?"

"No. Space Marines may become renegades while still following the path the Emperor has laid out for the Astartes. The Knights of Blood are the most prominent example."

"Alright... anyone else at all?" He was curious as to whether there were any last messages.

"Something from the Flesh Tearers regarding an issue with the Inquisition... and an invitation to Subsector Aurelia to speak with the Blood Ravens about the incorporation of the chapter into your crusade on behalf of their own penance crusade. What do you want to handle first?"

"I'm gonna assume the Flesh Tearers are freakishly barbaric, and they want me to bail them out?"

"No." Dalia quipped. "They are a successor chapter of the Blood Angels - though more wild and untamed than most. Due to their rising propensity to fall prey to genetic flaws within their gene-seed, the chapter has consistently been undermanned and viewed with disdain by the Ordo Hereticus. It would hardly surprise me to find that an Inquisitor is attempting to declare them Excommunicate Traitoris."

"Well, I suppose that sounds the more important of the two." He frowned, unsure as to the overarching circumstances of what was the better option. "Will the Blood Ravens go anywhere by the time that we get to their subsector? I'd hate to find out something happened to them when we weren't looking..."

"The chance of such a variable becoming involved is low, to say the least." She concurred.

"Then let's head off... at least until we have the manpower to crew these vessels. Maybe I'll see if we can find some individuals willing to crew the ships... though I don't want to end up overcrowding them."

As the _Cryptic Retribution_ moved to exit the Oort Cloud, the resting place of many ancient Imperial starships, the millennial pondered over the support - he had, though Dalia, requested the broken, the damaged. While the support came from many broken chapters, the numbers were still low - low enough tahat it would be unlikely they would be supplemented anytime soon.

Then again, one could scarcely say what was in store for the entourage.


	34. Chapter 36

_Armed Freighter Cryptic Retribution, in orbit of Cretacia, 3 028.000.M42_

The ancient Battle Barge known as the _Victus_ stood in orbit over the Death World below, proud flagship of the small fleet the chapter known as the Flesh Tearers possessed. Flanking it were over half a dozen Strike Cruisers - standing fast against several equally impressive Strike Cruisers bearing the sigil of the Grey Knights. Alongside the Inquisitorial vessels was a single Emperor-class Battleship, painted black with a golden sigil of the Inquisition mounted solidly upon its prow. From what the machine-spirit of the vessel could tell with its scanners, both forces' weapons were fully armed, ready to fire upon one another at a moment's notice. The tension could not have been higher.

The millennial had done a bit of reading up on the Flesh Tearers. Nothing specifically stood out to him - except for the minimal amount of Astartes they were commonly cited with having. A paltry four hundred Space Marines on board the various ships... if the battle began, it was nearly inevitable the Astartes would find themselves overwhelmed despite their notorious thirst for blood. To lose an ally to Imperial infighting, something he had found to be a reasonably common occurrence, would be a critical blow to his crusade. Well... whenever he started it.

"Hail whoever's in charge of the Inquisitorial vessel. It's time for a chat."

Soon, a holographic image would appear of the individual leading the Imperial force - a man, bald, with a raised collar hiding most of the lower part of his face. Thick bundles of wires connected to his head, in concert with a basic augment replacing his left eye. A large power fist, clawed fingers next to an integrated power blade, sent a shiver down his spine. This man clearly was an Inquisitor of substantial influence.

"I am Inquisitor Tyrus of the Ordo Hereticus. This is the business of the Emperor's most holy Inquisition. Leave now or you will be-" He was cut off by the raising of the millennial's own inquisitorial rosette. "And you are?"

"You may call me the millennial. I've come here in response to a message I received from the Flesh Tearers. What seems to be the issue?"

"This chapter of Astartes is guilty of delving into levels of barbaric ferocity the likes of which only those who serve Chaos would reach. Five millennia of deliberations have come to an end - they are to be purged due to the high levels of mutation within their gene-seed."

As he listened, Dalia passed him a small dataslate detailing three more notices of assistance - the survivors of the Angels Revenant and a mysterious notice from an individual who called himself 'The Eternal Flame.' Turning, he returned the small information pad to the tech-priest before returning to the issue at hand. "So you're saying it's possible for the guys who rip peoples' guts open with chainsaw swords to be _too hungry_ for enemy blood? Isn't their whole point to kill anything for the entirety of their existence?"

"The Flesh Tearers have committed wanton atrocities against the citizens of the Imperium. Five millennia ago, the Chapter, in concert with the Doom Eagles, fought against terror weapons that had been placed on the planet. Millions of Imperial citizens were slaughtered by the Flesh Tearers as they purged the terror weapons from the world. For five millennia, the Ordo Hereticus has discussed what to do - now, we act."

"Look, here's the thing." He spoke somewhat awkwardly to Tyrus. "I kinda need them. See, I recently spoke with the Emperor, and I've got the permission to do this whole Alpha Crusade shit. Big war fucking up lots of aliens and heretics, I tell ya." He paused. "So how's about we make a deal? You let the Flesh Tearers come with me - they can straight-up bring their ships and whatnot, I don't care. The more, the merrier. In exchange, the Inquisition will manage the world until we're done slaughtering enemies for the glory of the Imperium."

"Such sounds a reasonable method of ensuring they are made useful to the Imperium... however, their purity must first be tested - as should your own." He froze.

"What... Why me?"

"Your appearance is far too fortuitous. That you have come at this particular time implies that the machinations of the Warp have involved themselves in the affairs of the Ordo Hereticus. You shall undergo a simple trial prior to taking the Chapter with you - a drop of your blood is needed, along with a drop from every Astartes within the Flesh Tearers. Your combined blood shall be measured against an equal amount of water, blessed by the sacred priests of the Adeptus Ministorum thrice over. Should even the slightest hint of heresy be found within your heart, your blood shall outweigh the water - and you shall all be purged of your heresy."

"Very well... I'll have a servant of mine send you the blo- Actually, I kind of had all my blood replaced a while back. Would a drop of whatever the fuck they fitted me with work?" He winced - one thing he hated was needing to be needled. How else was he going to get a drop of the blood replacement over to the ship? A servitor moved towards him, hand replaced with some sort of amalgamated medical device that had a small needle on it.

"Oh, that doesn't look so - FUCKING DAMMIT, THAT HURTS!" He looked down at his arm, a small and thin trickle of the nearly clear substitute forming in a single drop on his damaged flesh. He rubbed over the liquid with his finger, doing his best to ensure a quick sealant of the puncture as the servitor exited the room, sample in hand. "Aight, I've got the sample made. Will be sending it to you... though I suppose we'll have to wait for the Chapter's samples to come in as well."

"Indeed, Inquisitor. You will receive a data-recording of the trial when it is time. For now, wait."

As he ended the transmission, a new comm link was forged - this time from the _Victus_ itself. An image appeared, this time of a Space Marine in the armor of the Flesh Tearers - the bloodied sawblade upon the blackened shoulder plates enough evidence to indicate who he was. Behind his head, above the armor's backpack, was a strange, halo-shaped device with wings jutting from it. The Halo of Thorns was a precious relic of the Flesh Tearers, next to the mighty weapon known as _Blood Reaver_ , both utilized by the man whose holographic image now stood before him.

"Greetings, Inquisitor." He gave a relatively cordial notice. "I am Gabriel Seth, Chapter Master of the Flesh Tearers. I appreciate your choosing to assist in saving us from death at the hands of the Ordo Hereticus."

"Easy there..." The millennial responded as nonchalantly as he could. "We're not out of the woods yet. That Tyrus guy wants a drop of all the Space Marines' blood. Some sorta arcane truth-telling ritual, I dunno."

"He is known for such... It is believed by many that the Emperor passes judgement through him." The massive Eviscerator still rested to the Flesh Tearer's side, ready to be used in the event that such hostility broke out. "As is, I must inquire... what forces shall you have at your disposal for this grandiose crusade against the enemies of mankind?"

"Well..." He paused, trying to remember the names of whatever chapters had pledged themselves to his service. "Almost all of them are broken. The five surviving Astral Knights, the Black Consuls, the Star Scorpions, a couple from that Deathwatch thingie, the Mantis Warriors and Executioners... Oh, got something from the Knights of Blood too. Who else..."

Dalia perked up. "The Crimson Castellans?"

"Oh yeah... the Crimson Castellans! And who else? The Angels something..."

"Angels Revenant."

"Yeah, them too. We also have enough gene-seed to make several more chapters, not to mention the help of some Thunder Warriors and Custodes." Of course, he did conveniently forget to mention where the gene-seed in question was from.

"C... Custodes?" Gabriel raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "I thought they were on eternal vigil within the Imperial Palace."

"Ordinarily, yeah... but apparently someone's told a kilo of them to come with me on this Crusade. Fully equipped, too."

"By the Emperor... You're very fortuitous if the very guardians of the Emperor have been assigned to come with you. And Thunder Warriors? I thought all were extinct..."

"Seems some hid away. Figured out a way to become immortal or something. We've got ten so far, with a thousand more on the way."

"The first warriors of the Imperium... returned for a crusade unseen since the days of the Emperor himself. Times are changing." The Flesh Tearers' chapter master gave a solemn nod. "We have sent the blood samples to Tyrus. All we can do now is hope our Father looks upon us with favor."

The ancient human nodded in response before disabling their communication. Now it was a matter of waiting out the Inquisitor Lord. Hopefully, whatever form of divination he was attempting to utilize would not lead to more death and destruction.

* * *

 _Armed Freighter Cryptic Retribution, in orbit of Cretacia, 3 030.000.M42_

Over half a solar day had passed. Both fleets still remained where they were, and no response came from the Inquisitorial battleship. Hope was being lost amongst the crew of the freighter, and two incidents with the Sisters of Battle had left a couple Hereteks in need of more mechanical augments. A boiling point would soon be reached if no action was taken - and the millennial doubted a full-scale riot would be something he could successfully survive.

Then a message came in from the ship. Both the Flesh Tearers' flagship and the _Cryptic Retribution_ were comm-linked, both receiving the message the image of Inquisitor Tyrus now relayed.

"In the name of the Ordo Hereticus of the God-Emperor's Holy Inquisition, judgement has been rendered. Your blood has been examined and found to be... not wanting. As previously agreed upon, once more shall the Flesh Tearers become a space-faring chapter. Until this crusade has been finished, the last of its enemies exterminated, the Inquisition shall take care of Cretacia. Prior to leaving the world and joining the crusade, the chapter may acquire any and all wargear, vehicles, and potential aspirants within a timespan of one week to ensure they are adequately supplied for the crusade."

A soft breath exited the lips of the millennial as he slouched back in his chair, relieved to hear that four hundred souls would not be lost on his watch. The Inquisition fleet began to move away, in preparation for allowing the Flesh Tearers vessels an eventual avenue out of the system as Tyrus disconnected.

"It seems you've saved us from being declared Excommunicate Traitoris, Inquisitor. We are in your debt - a debt that shall be paid in the xenos and heretic flesh torn away from their defiled bodies by our weapons. The Flesh Tearers are at your service."

"Excellent..." He smiled - this was the first truly good, no strings attached, non-pyrrhic news he had heard since awakening. "We'll stay here while you get everything ready. Not a fan of leaving my assets in the dust." Disconnecting the comms, he smiled, turning back to the Lions Viridian manning the bridge, unorthodox tech-priests joining them. Even the vessel's Navigator was on edge by what had just happened, glad he would not be exterminated.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls..." He turned, eyes shifting back and forth like a scanner as he gazed upon his vessel's bridge crew before finally giving a line that many showed some form of enthusiasm towards.

"The Emperor's granted us our first true boon."


	35. Chapter 37

_Armed Freighter Cryptic Retribution, Subsector Aurelia, 4 076.000.M42_

Tedious, it had been. Over the period of several days, both the millennial and Dalia had spoken back and forth. Names were thrown about, schemes summoned and scrapped as they bickered over what to utilize the gene-seed of the Traitor Legions for. Chapters had been created and destroyed, and it was only through the implants melded into his flesh that the ancient human had been able to stay awake, his mind slowly but surely drained by the ever-lengthening train ideas spat from his lips into a whirling vortex of thought.

At long last, they had agreed. Twenty-nine chapters, their colors and names artificed, had been derived from the still pure gene-seed within the stasis vaults. Homeworlds had been decided merely for some of the chapters, and reports had already been sent to allow for their forthcoming seeding. It would take nearly a decade for them to be adequately manned and equipped, certainly longer for them to be made useful as a part of the Alpha Crusade.

Communications with three more interested chapters of Astartes had been established: The Celestial Lions, who, along with an attached crusading force of Black Templars(Led by the surviving Castellan Raimer, freshly returned from the Battle of the Rock), would remain until they had rebuilt. The Marines Errant, drastically in need of a source of gene-seed to stave off damnation thanks to the finaglings of Huron Blackheart. And lastly, the Scythes of the Emperor, still licking their wounds on board the _Honor of Cronus_ after the Tyranids' destruction of their homeworld. Their cumulative numbers meant that when the force of Astartes was properly organized, almost thirty-two hundred of the Emperor's Angels of Death would be prepared to participate in this grandiose crusade. In practicality, though, all the millennial had available at the moment were the Flesh Tearers - the others who had contacted him had yet to bring forth their previously mentioned individuals.

As it was, the great fleet of Astartes warships, in concert with the punitive freighter, entered the system the Blood Ravens called home. Still the scars of war were metted out within the system, signs of the uprising the corrupted Chapter Master had attempted to perform in order to pervert the Imperial populace, all in the name of Chaos. Thanks to a group of Astartes who stayed true to the Emperor, and the commander of their forces, Kyras was defeated and the heathen presence virulently purged from the subsector.

The Blood Ravens as a chapter, though clean of the scent of heresy, were still in an exceptionally disorganized state. Almost half their chapter had suffered from some form of corruption, costing them dearly, though the Inquisitor who traveled to the subsector had successfully ensured no trace of the maleficent taint would remain. Though Chapter Master Angelos was busy, an emissary of his had been sent via a Thunderhawk gunship to the _Cryptic Retribution_ , in order to give his regards and lay down the foundations of the forthcoming alliance.

In due time, the man prayed, the cumulative coalition of broken and doomed Astartes would be ready for a crusade unmatched like any other. For now, he stood adorned in the full plate of the artificer armor he now wore - best dress was important for such a formal occasion. Along with him stood Dalia as a representative of the tech-priest, Sergeant Baraquel, leader of the Lions Viridian demi-company that called the vessel home, and Veteran Sergeant Adroeus, leader of one of the Veteran Squads of the Flesh Tearers' First Company. Together they stood as they awaited the arrival of the orbital dropship.

Soon the vessel was visible through the forcefields keeping air within the hangar of the armed freighter, the sigil of the winged drop of blood more than evidence of what chapter the crimson craft was from. Turning within the hangar, careful to avoid the Dreadclaw, the Arvus Lighter, and the cacophony of other craft, a soft clang resonated throughout the chamber, the rear ramp of the vessel slowly lowering, revealing a helmetless marine in the gilded trim of a suit of Terminator armor. Twin service studs were planted within the flesh above his left eye, copious scarring muddling much of his face as he stepped forward with a full squad of Terminators, a mesh of melee and ranged weaponry amongst the Indomitus-clad Astartes.

"Greetings." He spoke with a somewhat friendly, yet tired voice. "I am Veteran Sergeant Tarkus of the Blood Ravens' First Company, here to discuss the terms of our participation in the crusade on behalf of our Chapter Master."

The millennial gave a nod. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sergeant Tarkus. You may refer to me as the millennial. As you can see, other representatives are here to engage as part of the talks - I'd hope such is alright with you."

"I see no issue with it whatsoever, millennial." He nodded. "Do you have chambers prepared for this meeting?"

"We've discussed the meeting location previously." The ancient human explained. "If you'll come with us - your fellows can assist in the protection of the meeting."

"Excellent. We will follow you to the location." Tarkus responded as though he were receiving orders from a commanding officer - the pseudo-Inquisitor was admittedly confused, unknowing as to whether this was a sign of respect or simply old habits remaining. Still he walked with the odd collection of individuals. "I admit, I have never seen a battle-brother with your insignia." He said, eying the former member of the Lions Sable.

The viridian-colored Marine nodded. "We are... recently reformed. Much of our history has been lost or obscured. We hope to change this in the centuries to come."

"As do we, considering recent occurrences." Tarkus gave somewhat of a frown, though it appeared to be more a grimace. There was much to be explained - much to be learned.

* * *

 _Meeting Room, Armed Freighter Cryptic Retribution, 4 077.000.M42_

"So he went crazy?"

"In a manner of speaking. He gave in to temptation, spread his taint throughout the chapter. Many were swayed by his false words - many including a comrade of mine."

"Ah... I'm sorry for your loss."

"There is no need. He died for the choices he made, choices that cost the lives of many battle-brothers throughout the chapter, both from the Third Company and others. His intentional inhibiting of our attacks on the Black Legion, coupled with the treachery of Avitus, would soon explode into more blatant heresy - including the summoning of the daemon Ulkair upon the world of Aurelia itself. We were fortunate that he was defeated and cast back to the Warp."

"What sort of daemon we talking about?"

"A Great Unclean One. A monstrous, filthy abomination that spreads rot throughout as a pestilent servant of its accursed god."

"Heh... Reminds me of the one I took down."

The Ancient seemed somewhat curious. "You have experience in the purging of daemons such as that, millennial?"

"Well, yeah... though I did have the help of an entire company of Astartes, plus several squads of Grey Knights. I doubt I could've purged the abomination himself, though he was somewhat of a familiar face." He shuddered, the memory of the ascendent plague-vector still relatively fresh in his mind.

"Yes..." Tarkus trailed off. "How do you intend for the Blood Ravens to participate in this crusade? We shall indeed abide by the rules of the crusade of penitence, but our Chapter Master wishes to know what degree of autonomy and what degree of overall organization the chapter will have as a part of this force."

"Well... A leader or representative of each individual unit within the crusade shall be assigned to a group who will vote on important decisions - you know, where we'll go next, how we'll deal with certain situations, etcetera. Certainly I don't want to encroach on the leadership your Chapter Master has over the Blood Ravens, but there does have to be some sense of order to ensure that we get something done. Last thing I want is for this to be nothing but a pointless waste of life.

"Certainly." Tarkus concurred. "We want no more unnecessary deaths, in any way, shape, or form. All we require is-"

The voice of the veteran faltered within the chamber as a horrific noise was raised outside the room. Rushing forward, the millennial moved to grasp his Volkite Serpenta, only to be knocked backwards as the door opened in. A Blood Ravens Terminator grasped the armored body of a Lions Viridian, tossing him further within the chambers. Baraquel aimed at the heavily armored man with his meltagun, only to find a human in artificer armor bowled into him, gouges in the latter's armor from the twin lightning claws wielded by the crazed Astartes.

Tarkus lept into action - a strike from the lightning claw found itself deflected by his Power Fist, shots from his Storm Bolter rather harmlessly scorching the Terminator suit's exterior as he attempted to take down his foe. An inhuman level of durability seethed through him, however, and the fellow Veteran raked upwards, knocking him back. A blast from the Volkite Serpenta seemed to partially cave in one of the armor's leg joints, he still lunged forward, the steel desk which the meeting had been taking place at collapsing in the middle.

Baraquel finally saw the opportunity he had been waiting for, firing off a potent burst of melta fire at the Terminator. Sparks flew from his left Lightning Claw as its power field shorted out virulently, a growl heard from the vox of the mad Marine. "Emperor's graces... Fall!" The demi-company commander cried out in frustration as he continued to unleash wave after wave of bursts from his weapon, the Terminator slowly limping towards him with arm strung back, ready to strike.

Then he screamed. The augmented human yelled from within his adamantium fortress as he siezed, falling forward to reveal the sparking arms of Dalia Cythera. Through immense focus and concentration, the potent power of electricity had run through her flesh, overloading the components of the ancient suit and rendering it fully non-functional. She gasped a bit from the drain before slowly doing her best to recompose herself. One of the Hereteks moved to assist her in standing up, but she shrugged him off, leaning against the battered ruins of the table.

Though his armor was dead weight, the Terminator, while electrocuted to the point of being nearly comatose, he still moved his head to show activity. The millennial moved to take his helm off, revealing a pale, gaunt face with eyes glowing from exposure to the Warp. He stepped back in shock, but Tarkus himself moved forward. "What have you done to my battle-brother?"

"Only what was necessary." This entity, this thing in the shell of a man, gave a sick smile, smoldering flesh still emitting the steam of the charring it experienced. "Subsector Aurelia will never be free. Chaos shall eternally lay root and fester within the subsector, like flyspawn within a necrotic wound." The possessed marine groaned, turning his eyes towards the millennial. "You seek to Crusade... He tells you that your allies will not come from here. Leave and do not return, lest you suffer from a deserved destruction."

"Who is your master?" The Blood Raven spat at the mouth of the daemon. It gave a maleficent chuckle, but before ending the existence of its host, it spat out two words with a venomous vigor, acidic and barbed with inhuman malice - two words that stunned Tarkus to the core.

"Hail Kyras."

The body fell forward, a light gone from its eyes. The battle-brother now looked as though he were a petrified corpse that had been buried for thousands of years. The thin flesh fused to the skull was not enough to keep his body intact, and it rolled loosely to the floor of the meeting hall as everyone looked on in surprise, or in some hearts, horror.

"Kyrans..."


	36. Chapter 38

_Armed Freighter Cryptic Retribution, Subsector Aurelia, 4 080.000.M42_

Meetings continued to proceed between Sergeant Tarkus, the millennial, and his fellows. Despite the uproar caused by the possessed Terminator, there had been no signs of these 'Kyrans' as of yet - one could only wonder why. Perhaps they were scheming nefariously. Perhaps they were waiting for some sort of sign from their Master. One could only guess - but the peace did allow the archaic man to enjoy other things - the company of the Dark Eldar who seemed to have an interest in him, for one.

Turning a corner, he smiled, glad that the Blood Ravens would soon integrate themselves into his force, only to run into Reri head on. She seemed agitated, even moreso as she raised a hand to strike him before recognizing who he was. "Oh... so your meeting is over..."

"Yeah..." He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly - what of it he could reach around the collar of his armor. "What's wrong? You don't seem to be in that sorta chipper mood you're normally in."

"I've received some... intriguing news." She sighed. "For reasons beyond my understanding, the Incubi known as Drazhar entered the gladiatorial arenas in search of something. I have no idea what it is he wishes for, but the rumors seem to be that he serves as an instrument - a tool of bloody-handed slaughter. Hundreds of captives have been unleashed to satiate his thirst, and only my mother has a count superior to his own - though the gap is slowly being bridged."

"Okay... What's so important?"

"Drazhar is unbeatable. Rumors abound that he is the fallen Phoenix Lord Arhra, his corrupted essence eternally animating his plate. I truthfully have no idea what the truth of his story is - but I cannot let my mother lose her title as the greatest warrior in the arenas."

"...and this concerns us how? I mean, I don't see a way for us to get you back home, to be honest."

"It will take the Incubi champion years to grow close to my mother's numbers. Still, even should she dedicate every waking moment to causing the deaths of whatever enemies are placed before her, that automaton will eventually defeat her." Reri grimaced - to her, this was personal.

"Alright... if we find access to the Webway, I guess we can handle that... assuming you know how to get home from there. What is the Webway anyways? Some sorta wormhole?"

"The Webway is a creation of the Eldar during the prime of our race, before Slaanesh was formed." Reri attempted to remember what little she had been told. "Basically, there are portals for it that things can go through to get from one place to the other, which is how we successfully make such swift strikes upon our foes. Our Craftworld brethren do the same." She gave a sneer, agitated at the mention of other Eldar.

"So these are like tunnels through that Warp thing?"

"Not entirely... The Webway is something completely separate from the Warp, yet connected to it. There is almost no chance of daemonic invasion - unless they attempt to breach one of the tunnels. The Harlequins assist in sealing any damaged paths."

"...Harlequins?" More confused, the millennial now scratched his head, careful not to rip flesh from his scalp with the augmented power of the gauntlet integrated within his armor.

"Those of our kind who are neither lovers of pain nor users of Spirit Stones. They exist almost entirely within the Webway, performing grandiose theatrical performances. Even your Imperium has been graced by their presence before."

"So they're like a circus... Or a theater group... Or something like that?"

"I..." She turned her eyes in whatever direction they could go, doing her best to try and not elaborate. "I can hardly explain them. No one can except for them. I have only one word of advice, though - never speak to a Solitaire. You will be cursed for the rest of your existence."

"The fuck is a Solitaire?"

"Never talk to any Harlequin wearing a mask with horns. Alright?"

"Fine... Now could we head to my quarters? There are... things we need to discuss."

* * *

 _Armed Freighter Cryptic Retribution, in orbit over Armageddon, 4 165.000.M42_

Armageddon. The first stop on the road to successfully cleansing the Imperium of the xenos taint that assailed it. A myriad of Imperial forces still lay engaged with the heavily dug in Orks across the face of the planet. Though the greenskin warlord known as Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka had left the world, much of his forces still remained to wreak havoc. Armageddon was, according to the information on board the armed freighter's cogitators, a planet that provided the Imperium with some of the finest mechanized units to be found within the Imperial Guard. Truthfully, he believed it to be a world where a new chapter of Space Marines could be laid - but the world would need to be pacified first.

Two full fleets of vessels from a pair of Space Marine chapters flanked the _Cryptic Retribution_ , the vessels providing reinforcement to the small craft as it properly slipped into orbit. A smile crossed the lips of the human as he entered the Arvus Lighter with Reri, Dalia, and the squad of Sororitas. Soon the craft would pilot them to the surface, drop pods of both involved chapters already landing to establish field headquarters for use in this first step of the campaign.

General Kurov was commander of the Imperial Guard forces on the surface of Armageddon now that the Commissar known as Sebastian Yarrick had taken to the stars in an attempt to pursue the Ork warboss and ensure he would never again be a threat. Still, however, a myriad of Space Marine chapters had landed upon the world's surface - perhaps this would be a place to acquire allies in order to further the cause of the Alpha Crusade.

Stepping forward in the artificer armor he had grown accustomed to, the millennial soon eyed a general with a large cap and impeccable mustache, flanked by both a servitor and and a Space Marine wearing green armor marked with, queerly enough, accents of flame. The armor appeared to be of a different design than that of the Blood Ravens and Flesh Tearers - the helmet was of a different color, gilded filigree engraved within complex patterns over the chest plate. The armor itself appeared to have varying proportions, the helmet most of all looking like nothing he had ever seen before - the armor resembled that of the Grey Knights themselves.

"Ah... You must be the Inquisitor we received a message from. I am General Kurov. With me is Captain Mulceber, Captain of the Salamanders' Fifth Company."

"Nice to meet you both." He offered a hand in friendship, receiving a strange look from the general, though the Astartes seemed to understand the gesture. The grasp of a large gauntlet gripped his ceramite-plated palms as he looked the Space Marine over. "So... How're things against the greenskins? I've been... out of the loop for a long while."

"The Orks continue to infest the ruins of this planet." Mulceber responded. "Week in and week out, we struggle to save the people from their high-endless onslaughts. No matter how many we burn, more take their place."

"Alright... Where are they weakest?" He raised an eyebrow in curiosity before the general motioned for him and his entourage to follow.

"This is the current battlefield situation, Inquisitor." General Kurov pointed over a projection of much of the world's surface, laid out as flat as it could be. "The Orks have advanced little in this position." He pointed to the holographic image of what seemed a crumbling structure almost dodecahedral in shape. "They stopped at the ruined manufactorum. Not sure why - I would hardly consider scrap to be of any use."

"You forget what Orks can do with scrap, General." Mulceber spoke up once more. "More vehicles and weapons can be forged from the parts and worked into the crude firearms of the local warband."

"Warband? I thought that Ghazghkull ran off."

"He was merely the leader of this group." The Company Captain responded. "A plethora of warbosses pledged allegiance to him and brought forth their forces as a part of this campaign. The warboss we consider to currently be most of a threat is an enigmatic Ork known as Koldkut Skalpshredda. A large group of Orks believe him to have some sort of knowledge that could help them win the war - knowledge that must be lost with him."

"So why haven't you had an assassin called on him? Or, I dunno... Used a virus that only kills Orks to kill them all off?"

"Neither of us have the necessary connections to acquire the services of the Officio Assassinorum. Nor do we have a sample of living Ork biomass we can utilize as a template for a chemical agent." General Kurov bemoaned the situation they were in - such a war of attrition was not what humanity had intended for, not with the large quantity of resources dedicated to the greenskins' destruction. That a crude race of xenos would be able to successfully maintain a presence on this world reeked of the situation being ill-handled.

"Alright... I have an idea, but before I suggest it, I need to know - do you have any Ogryns?" A strange request, one the general merely nodded to. "Alright then... here's what I'm thinking."

Soon the Sister-Superior, the general, and both Dalia and Reri were promptly forced within a huddle. From outside the Salamanders' Captain listened to their whispered mumbles before the Sororitas yelled. "WHAT SORT OF HERESY IS THIS THAT YOU SUGGEST!?"

"Look, it'll work! Trust me on this, okay. I don't wanna say it works in the movies, but if they're really as stupid on a person-to-person basis as Kurov's implying, this should go off without a hitch. All we need is a Tauros Venator, some scrapmetal, a squad of Ogryns, green paint, and a little help from my friends..."

A message would soon be sent from the world's surface to the _Cryptic Retribution_ , a message detailing that contact be reached with the Officio Assassinorum. A Callidus assassin was requested, one capable of adequately shaping themselves into the frame of an Ork. His plan was simple enough - disguising the Tauros Venator as a vehicle of the warband and using flesh-dying techniques to give the Ogryns the superficial appearance of Orks themselves. Perhaps the xenos wouldn't be able to tell the difference. The Callidus would lead them, being of adequate intelligence to ensure they followed the commands of their handler to the letter, to the warboss, acquiring genetic samples and granting themselves an opportunity to slay the enigmatic warboss and any Meganobs who guarded him.

As he turned back, the huddle broken up, an ardent grasp upon his shoulder came from the Sister-Superior. "I have had enough of your treacherous perversions! Animated statues? Consorting with xenos? You have broken everything the God-Emperor has commanded us to abide by, yet you choose to still proceed as though you deserve the forces you claim!" As he turned around, a gauntleted fist met his face, his muscles tightening into a grimace as he stumbled back. The dilemma was something he had inevitably expected to deal with in due time - whether he would retain his day's refusal to strike a woman, or whether he would view her as someone to be treated equally in combat. She was more than willing to kill him on the spot, certainly - such to her seemed to be a quick end to the problem.

Grasping the power maul, he did his best to lean forward with one of his gilded pauldrons, swinging the weapon towards the torso of the Sister-Superior's power armor. She attempted to move to the side, reaction slowed by her surprise at his assault which allowed him the opportunity to send her back several feet. The woman was on her back, attempting to get up, when he rested a foot on her chestplate, wiping the sweat from his brow before quickly rolling her to the prone position, tugging at the backpack attached to her armor. Sparks flew from strained connections as he continued to tug, the back of the armor soon removed from the rest of the powered exoskeleton, sending him falling back on his own rear end. To the Sororitas, however, that her suit was no longer powered left her attempting to raise herself up with over seventy pounds of solid ceramite encased around her body - a task not easily fulfilled.

"Damn you..." She spouted, slowly getting to her hands and knees. "The Emperor damn you to the deepest depths of hell..."


	37. Chapter 39

_Firezone Theta, Armageddon, 4 185.000.M42_

"So..." The Inquisitor looked over the green-painted Ogryns, in concert with the perfectly-disguised Callidus at their head. Still he was remarkably amazed at the capabilities of polymorphine. "I assume you all know what you're here to do, right?" The sound of Basilisk and Medusa barrages partially drowned out what he said, the noise muffled in his ears by the helmet he wore.

"DAS RIGHT, BOSS! WE'Z GONNA GET IN ALL SNEAKY LIKE AND USE DA CHOPPAZ AND SHOOTAZ TA SEND DAT GROT WHO CALLS 'IMSELF A WARBOSS BACK TO 'IS CLAN IN PIECES!" The disguised assassin responded at the top of her voice. "DAT'S RIGHT, INNIT, BOYZ?" A loud rumbling roar of Ogryns with Ripper Guns and other potent 'Orkified' weapons responded.

"Alright, you guys take the Venat- I mean, you guys take the 'Trukk' with you. Send back a report when you get the chance."

"FOR DA EMPRAH!" The group gathered together in their vehicle and drove off, leaving the millennial with General Kurov and Captain Mulceber.

"Do you honestly believe this will work?" The general raised a hand to his mustache in befuddlement.

"Honestly, I have no idea." He sighed. "If it works, well... Gains for us. If it doesn't, they'll have at least died doing the right thing - following orders that make at least a shred of sense. Anyways... Captain Mulceber, there any chance I could borrow you for a second?"

The Salamander gave a nod, following the millennial as he moved into a different room. "Alright... I need your help."

"Help from an Astartes? What sort?"

"Alright, here's the deal. Emperor told me to do this whole Crusade thing. I'm guessing you've seen the note. Basically, I have enough gene-seed for around twenty-nine, thirty chapters or so, but I haven't the slightest idea how to use it - or generally how to make a Space Marine chapter."

"We have enough trained individuals within the companies stationed here to assist you with the implantation process, certainly - even with regards to the manufacturing of wargear for them, we can assist."

"Well..." He drove off, continuing in his monologue. "I kinda need an organizational structure - you know, break them in and stuff. Could the Salamanders help out with that? Once this fight's over, I admittedly sorta want to get things started with the planting of these new chapters. From what I've heard, Armageddon makes good mechanized and armored units."

"The people here are battle-hardened, yes." The Salamander nodded. "Perhaps they deserve a reward for their efforts in preservation of the Imperium."

An explosion erupted some distance away. The two power-armored individuals stepped outside, watching a Basilisk firing away into a swarm of green insect-like creatures that covered a hilltop of runs over a mile off in the distance. The loud cry of "WAAAGH!" rang across the landscape, and many a guardsman shivered in their boots as they readied themselves in formation, lasguns at the ready. When the horde of initial Slugga Boys came within range, the beams of light flashed forth, singing the flesh from the Orks as they fell to the mass of energy that pulled away their outer layers of green skin.

"Fuck..." The millennial growled. "How'd they attack so soon?"

"I suppose they think they have fresh meat." General Kurov responded, eying the power gloves he wore as the beautifully ornate thunder hammer of the charcoal-black Astartes crackled into action. Soon blasts from the Volkite Serpenta would unleash themselves upon the hulking greenskins as the forces engaged themselves with the brunt of the Ork assault.

Kurov would grasp an Ork's head in his hand, crumpling it within his hand as the Salamander bludgeoned a Nob with his mighty weapon, crude metal armor rended asunder by the potent power of the energy field surrounding the head of the massive master-crafted mallet. A blade of glistening metal punched forward from the side of the millennial's gauntlet, plunging forward towards the face of a Shoota Boy and bisecting his cranium.

Though the line was roughly held, Guardsmen were dying, overwhelmed by hordes of an endless green tide. A Basilisk fired off another potent round of artillery into the horde before the greenskins gathered en masse around its tracks and flipped the machine over with their maddening strength, crushing the crew underneath the welded metal of their open-topped vehicle. At range, less ordnance was being lobbed towards the horde, allowing it to gain ever-increasing strength.

"DO WE HAVE FUCKING TANKS?" The elder human turned to the Salamander, looking for whatever sort of opening he could get. As though an answer to his request, a Hydra flak tank began to unleash its quad autocannons into the mass of xenos, downing them swiftly with the potency of explosive shells. This gave the pseudo-Inquisitor an opportunity to fall back, the others following his motion back to a line of trenches within the firebase, a place where heavier emplacements and Tarantula turrets had been previously installed by the Imperial Guard forces, in preparation for slow and certain advancement further towards the Ork presence on the world. Taking a step back over the trenches, the general called forth a group of heavily armored guardsmen - Kasrkin units, he called them - to the forefront. A hail of grenades flew into the Ork-filled trenches as flame weapons began to mercilessly char the flesh of the aliens.

"YES!" The Sergeant screamed. "BURN IN THE FIRES OF INFERNO! FLAAAAAAME!" He certainly seemed to be enjoying himself, the formed choke-point drowning the lines in the dirt with the smoldering remains of Ork bodies. From their new position, the Guardsmen were able to keep Orks from getting around the sides even as the heavy bolter fire of the Tarantulas continued to be unleashed upon the targets before them. The rabid xenos continued to crawl over the bodies of their dead fellows, soon falling once more and building a wall of flesh that further barricaded the pathway. Soon the offensive seemed to somewhat cease, something seemed to speak in the back of the millennial's mind that they were hardly finished - not by a long shot.

Slowly he stepped back, still staring at the mass of bodies, some of which were nothing but the hands of dead Guardsmen who found themselves crushed by the pile. A grimace crossed his face as he turned away, trying hard to think about something to take his mind off the sight of freshly dead humans. Dalia stepped down from a gun emplacement, turning towards him and placing a pulsing hand upon the shoulder of his armor. "We're safe for now."

"Ugh..." He gave a bit of a disgusted look, a tidbit of bile having surfaced to the back of his throat. "I just... don't like seeing good men die, that's all."

"Casualties are merely an inevitability, Inquisitor." She frowned, distraught in a way as well. "Still, I suppose I can understand your rationale."

"You don't know the half of it..." He looked over as a woman garbed in white and red armor did her best to extricate the bodies of the deceased from the pile. "Back in the day, the bodies of the dead were treated with unparalleled reverence. Special cemeteries were spared just for them. Nowadays it seems life's so cheap, it's easier to just dump a body in a shallow dirt grave and say 'that's that.' No respect for their service at all. Wouldn't shock me either if veterans got few if any benefits."

"The Imperium consistently wages war against its foes, Inquisitor. No time can be given to dead men - they are in the presence of the Emperor now. Your chances of changing Imperial burial practices are second to none." General Kurov perked in.

"We dispose of the bodies of the fallen within the mightiest of volcanoes upon the surface of our world." Mulceber responded. "Treated properly in death as they were in life."

"Seems like a damn straight cremation process you've got going on there." A macabre chuckle came from the defrosted man's throat as he turned away. "Is there any way to get some air support? Maybe even start the planting of these Space Marines? I already have a name in mind for these guys..."

"I will see what we can do. We have the resources to construct rather simple sets of power armor for their use, based upon the Heresy-type armor. Such is simple to build and simple to replace, excellent for a newly forged chapter lacking easy access to the Aquila or Corvus armors from the Mechanicus upon Mars." He rested the depowered Thunder Hammer upon the ground, pondering over what resources were available for use in constructing such suits.

"Heresy-type armor? Um... The hell is that?"

"Well," Mulceber began, "I assume you've noticed that not every Space Marine wears what necessarily is the same type of armor. For example, some have a more beak-shaped helmet. Others have a raised 'collar' around their neck to protect the joint from penetration. Still others have older, more valuable types of plate long since unseen to the majority of the Imperium. The 'Heresy' armor is named such for its' inception during the Horus Heresy - a simple, easy to build, easy to maintain suit of armor. Though cruder in many regards to the Maximus armor it was meant to supplement, the Heresy armor was certainly one of the keys to the heretics' defeat. Many Salamanders utilize components from Heresy suits, out of respect for their reliability." He motioned to the right shoulder plate of his armor. "My suit utilizes a plate from an ancient set of Mark 5 armor for the right pauldron. I further engraved and gilded it to make it reflect with the rest of the plate."

"No advancement... I almost want to say 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it,' but I'm not sure what to say considering how those panels must've been around for millennia."

"Any suits of Heresy armor more than likely are relics, though some chapters produce and utilize them due to their simplicity." He nodded, his glowing red eyes giving an almost alien stare. "Laminated armor from derelict vehicles within the motor pool should prove useful base components."

Before the millennial could respond, a message came up, one routed through the viewpiece of his armor. "BOSS, WE'Z MADE IT IN. DEY'Z GOT NO IDEA WHAT WE GETTIN' READY FOR 'EM."

"Good, keep infiltrating in-"

"WE'Z DO GOTS A PROBLEM."

A hand raised to the faceplate of the Ignatus-pattern power armor. "...what?"

"DA BOYZ'VE GOT A RIGHT AN' PROPPA FIGHT GOIN' WIT' DESE GROTS. YOU'S WANT ME TA STRAIGHTEN DEM OUT?"

"I'd... rather not see you getting in the way of an Ogryn pummeling stuff." He sighed, recollecting how ridiculously easy to lead about they were - Derm Defra came to mind. Perhaps the Ogyn would one day cross paths with him again. Until then, one could only wonder what the results would be.

"BOSS... HE'Z COMIN!"

The sound from the feed immediately cut out - no signal was received from the disguised Callidus as he paced back and forth, waiting to find out some sort of outcome. Still he twitched, others watching nervously to determine whether or not his gamble would pay off.

"...target has been eliminated. On our way to extraction."

He breathed a sigh of relief, leaning back against the wall of a tent and soon knocking it over thanks to the force of his suit. Several Guardsmen writhed underneath the fallen tarp of their temporary quarters.

"Thank God... We did it..."

General Kurov stepped towards him, vulnerable position he was in. "I... I'm not quite sure what to think. Certainly the Emperor is with you if such a plan successfully worked, and yet it was implausible..."

"Well... We did fight differently back in my day. Figured I might as well try the craziest things in the book. Now, anyone able to get get me some samples of Ork tissue? I have an idea."

What use the idea would be in this campaign was scarsely understood, even by him, but in due time...

In due time, the gains would be made.


	38. Chapter 40

_Armed Freighter Cryptic Retribution, in orbit over Armageddon, 4 195.000.M42_

Rest and relaxation were the key orders of the day. Over the last few days, conflicts with the Orks had resulted in what appeared mostly to be victories for the Imperial forces on-world. Further bolstering the offensive was the arrival of more elements of the forces that had dedicated themselves to his cause - practically everyone had arrived from their response to his message - even those Blackshields of the Deathwatch. The only ones that he had seen no sight from were of the individual known as the Unbound Flame.

Perhaps someone was attempting to play a joke.

In any event, a myriad of Chapter Masters had joined the millennial for a feast of grandiose proportions - a celebratory meal in honor of the Alpha Crusade's beginning. Officially, it was in honor of the Emperor - but to the pseudo-Inquisitor, the event was nothing more than something to calm his nerves, to ensure that he remained confident in the company of men far greater than he.

A sight of incredulous rarity filled the halls of the armed freighter, copious cargo bay converted to a dining space through the constant toil of servitors. The millennial himself sat at the head of the table, Gabriel Seth to his left and Gabriel Angelos to his right. At his table as well were Mulceber and Drakgaard, Captains of the Salamanders' 5th and 6th companies, Chapter Master Thrasius of the Scythes of the Emperor - even Anton Narvaez, Chapter Master of the Marines Errant and hero of the Badab War. Around the table of Chapter Masters, Captains, and heroes of the Imperium, were other tables where honored guests were seated, General Kurov amongst them.

"Heroes of the..." He began, before his voice rang throughout the cargo bay. He fiddled with his armor's vox-caster before restarting, moving to raise his glass with a gauntleted hand. "Heroes of the Imperium, all of you are here to, for this rare occasion, reap the rewards of your service. Many of you have lifetimes of experience in purging the abominations that desire to threaten the Imperium. For this, we feast today. In memory of the victories won. In memory of the glories to come..." He paused in remembrance. "...and in memory of those we've lost or left behind. We fight for the Emperor. We fight for the Imperium. But above all - we fight for the safety of mankind." Loud cries of 'Aye!" resonated throughout the hold as he turned to Chapter Master Angelos, smiling as best he could at the heavily augmented Astartes.

"I complete this toast with a ceremonial reading of a text I'm sure you're all quite familiar with... but it seems most appropriate, all things considered." Clearing his throat, he reached for a scroll he had left lying on a smaller table to his right, unraveling it as he looked over the crowd, all expectantly gazing upon him.

"They shall be my finest warriors, these men who give themselves to me." He began. "Like clay I shall mold them. and in the furnace of war... forge them. They will be of iron will and steeled muscle. In great armor I shall clad them - and with the mightiest guns, they shall be armed. They will be untouched by plague or disease - no sickness will blight them." He began to speak with more conviction, thrusting his vocalization into his reading as though he were the man people believed him to be. "They will have such tactics, strategies, and machines that no foe can best them in battle. They are my bulwark against terror. They are the defenders of humanity..." He paused, scanning one final time across the room, praying silently he received the reaction he was hoping for.

"They are my Space Marines..." As he trailed off, he waited for a response - which first came from, oddly enough, Dalia Cythera.

"And they shall know no fear." It seemed to resonate with an individual sitting further down the main table - the Thunder Warrior known as Ghota.

"And they shall know no fear!" He stood up from his seat, the the stripped bone of a large grox in his hand as he gazed over the hall. One by one, the other Astartes began to repeat the simple litany until it had spread throughout the room. Now, the millennial decided, was the time to try again.

"They are my Space Marines..."

"AND THEY SHALL KNOW NO FEAR!" A rousing response filled the cargo bay, a spark of merriment filling the hearts of the many battle-brothers as they began to dig into their meals. Khoisan Neotera of the Mantis Warriors sipped of the pale ale laid out as a part of the meal, while the Chapter Master of the Knights of Blood, Ichorin Hemat, sank his teeth into a large grox steak. Arkash Hakkon of the Executioners spoke of the Badab War with a pair of Lions Viridian across from him as a Deathwatch Blackshield watched in silence. The millennial himself enjoyed a hearty helping of what looked to be some form of mashed potatoes, succinctly sauteed with butter - he wondered what made butter nowadays, but perhaps that was best left unthought.

A servitor arrived at his side, and as he crossly turned towards the organic machine, its mechanical hand gave him a large vellum scroll which he shortly unraveled. After scanning it over, he slowly stood up, a semi-sincere smile crossing his face. "My apologies gentlemen, but something has come up. Please, continue to enjoy yourselves." He slowly walked out of the room, but not before forgetting to shut his mic off immediately.

"The fuck is a _Judgement of Carrion_..."

* * *

 _Battle Barge Litany of Fury, fringe of Armageddon system, 4 200.000.M42_

It had taken a long conversation with Gabriel Angelos, Veteran Sergeant Cyrus of the Tenth Company, and Veteran Sergeant Tarkus in order for him to understand how important the mysterious appearance of the Space Hulk in this system was. That it had broken a consistent pattern of appearing and disappearing from the Aurelia subsector was a dreadful sign to those who kept the lore of the Blood Ravens - that it had followed them here was an ill omen. Techmarine Martellus speculated that fluctuations in the vessel's Warp core had sensed weakness in the chapter, some ancient machine-spirit seeking to test the chapter once again. Even the millennial had his own theory - perhaps it was those accursed Kyrans that had previously shown themselves.

The monstrous hulk's engines were burning - a certain sign that something had changed within the vessel. Though previous examinations had shown little if anything in the way of armament, the hulk was still gargantuan, easily as large as the almost mythical Gloriana-class Battle Barges forged for the Primarchs millennia ago, if not larger. That it was active seemed strange - that it was on course for Armageddon itself was stranger. Tarkus and his squad had been outfitted in their Terminator armor - a squad of scouts found themselves tagging along courtesy of the desire of Cyrus to give the fresh recruits an opportunity to hone their skills in the wake of their crusade's beginning. Intriguingly enough, Gabriel Angelos himself was waiting for them upon their embarking within the drop pods, the mighty daemonhammer known as _God-Splitter_ held within his grasp. The Dreadclaw, now festooned with the symbols of the Imperial Inquisition to further the acceptance of the Inquisitor as such, stood wide open as the warriors entered within the ancient craft.

"This is an impressive relic of the Legions." Gabriel responded. "Where did you acquire it?"

The millennial situated himself within the drop pod's restraints, doing his best to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. "Basically, I snagged it in the Alpha Centauri system. It used to be blue, then black, then I added the sigils to it. It's the only one of its kind in Imperial service, from what I can tell."

"For good reason." Martellus interjected. "They are almost ubiquitous with the touch of Chaos."

"Well yeah, so I've heard... but it's loyal to the Imperium. Trust me."

The Dreadclaw and its accompanying Thunderhawks found themselves soon within the voice of space, traveling towards the living wreck of a ship that was the _Judgement of Carrion_. In due time, they would reach a gap in the vessel's exostructure that could only be assumed to be one of many hangars. As the vessels landed upon the creaking remains of the long derelict ship, the human fixed his helmet, slowly stepping out next to the Astartes, all of whom were helmed - or at the least, equipped with rebreathers, considering their body's tolerance to conditions no mortal man would survive. They would soon travel through a door at the end of the large chamber, a door that, when sealed behind them, allowed for the return of oxygen, helmets being taken off by all sans Martellus.

"Well, which way do we go?"

"Our last experience on board the Judgement of Carrion left us with little to go on regarding the vessel's interior structure." Martellus responded, servo arm at the ready. "Discovering a nearby console should provide us with at least partial access to the ship's systems. From there we can map the location of the ship's bridge, leading us to whoever managed to reactivate the wreck."

"Anyone able to tell what we've gotta expect? Those Chaos guys? The Orks? Dark Eldar?"

"You seem to have forgotten Genestealers, Inquisitor... Perhaps even other xenos - the Tau come to mind considering their propensity for reverse engineering technology, though how they would have managed to acquire this monument of technology is impossible to explain."

A chittering sound resonated down the hall of the hulk, almost a confirmation of Tarkus' theory - when it was suddenly cut off by a choked gasp and the sound of ichor spattering across an unseen deck. "DAT'LL TEACH YOU BUGSES 'BOUT DA MITE OV DA ORKS! WAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

"Shit..." He silently cursed, stepping forward with his Volkite Serpenta and eying for any forthcoming targets. "How did Orks bring this thing all the way over here?"

"There was a warband of Orks that plagued the Subsector." Cyrus quipped. "This must be where they took up residence after they were purged. Or it might be that group of Orks operating as mercenaries for the local Rogue Traders."

"Bluddflagg..." Tarkus said his name with disdain. "That Ork killed a squad of my men before a Rogue Trader explained we were not to be touched according to their contract. And he only wrought further havoc when the Inquisition came."

"Adrastia did admit to me that she made a deal with the Ork in order to contain the damage Kyras was wreaking in the subsector." Gabriel stepped forward, armor scarred and daemonhammer at the ready. "But I hear the deal worked out less than well for her - her pride was taken away, it seems."

Tarkus readied his storm bolter, his squad ready for action as Cyrus motioned for his scouts to stay back, sniper rifles ready to engage at long range. The millennial stayed behind Chapter Master Angelos, ready to provide short-range fire support in the event that he found himself engaged with an enemy.

A group of Orks soon moved to turn the corner - many of them wore basic cloth coverings with the skull and crossbones - a couple had hooks for hands or pegs for legs. Surprise was on the side of the Blood Ravens as they rushed forward, Gabriel slamming _God-Splitter_ down upon the skull of a Nob, reducing it to naught but splinters. The Terminators soon unloaded with their storm bolters upon the others as the millennial once more vaporized large chunks of flesh from a pair of Slugga Boyz. Those that turned to engage soon found themselves decapitated by the potent rounds of the scouts' sniper rifles, and the small group of Orks were quickly dispatched. Immediately, Tarkus stepped forward to examine the markings of their crude clothing.

"Freebootaz..."


	39. Chapter 41

_Space Hulk Judgement of Carrion, Armageddon system, 4 196.000.M42_

As they made their way through the hulk, keeping out of sight of any Orks that they came across, an idea began to form in the millennial's head. He pondered over the thoughts of simple-minded creatures, those who seemingly existed only to fight, only to kill. If that urge could be redirected...

Soon, they reached a room at the far end, double doors guarded by a pair of massive Orks wearing scraps of metal crudely welded together.

"Meganobs... They must be guarding the leader of this force." Gabriel raised his hammer in preparation for the inevitable fight. Before anyone could strike, however, the doors flew open, smashing the massive Orks into the walls behind them and revealing the mighty leader of this Freeboota band. A twin-linked Shoota rested somewhat gracefully in his hand, the gargantuan piece of jagged metal that barely qualified as a blade in his other as he raised a couple meaty fingers to his brow, adjusting the cover for his right eye in concert with the Inquisitorial hat that rested above his head, sigil marked out and replaced with a skull and crossbones.

"YA BOYZ AR' WORTHLESS! WORTHLESS, I TELLS YA! TRYIN' TA GET SOMETHIN' GOIN' WIT' DESE HUMIES... WE GOT BIGGER PREY!"

"...bigger prey?" The millennial spoke up.

"A COURSE!" Bluddflagg bellowed. "WE BE OUT 'ERE TO PLUNDER AN' GET GREAT AMOUNTS'A BOOTY!" Soon the group looked inside the room, noticing several large skeletal trophies - Tyranids, it seemed.

"So you aren't joining the... What do Orks call it?"

"DA WAAAGH!? I BE NOT 'ERE FOR THAT! I BE 'ERE TO GET DA PRECIOUS LOOT!" The Ork Kaptin responded succinctly. "TWOULD BE AN EASIER PURSUIT IF T'WEREN'T FOR DESE ZOGGIN' BUGS." Another Ork dragged in the head of what appeared to be some sort of alien monstrosity.

"Genestealers..." Cyrus grimaced. "Chaos, Genestealers, Orks... This has to be one of the most lethal space hulks in the Imperium."

"I'd argue the _Nihilus Rex_ was more dangerous, but that's a talk for another time. Mister... Bloodflag, was it?" The artificer-armored human turned back to the monstrous Ork.

"AYE, THAT BE ME NAME! BLUDDFLAGG, GREATEST OF DA ORK FREEBOOTAZ - LORD'A PLUNDER!"

"Alright... Well, what's your favorite type of booty? Gold? Guns?"

"HATS."

The millennial froze. "Your favorite type of plunder... is hats? Why?"

"CAUSE DEY'RE PERFECT REMINDERS OV ALL da BATTLES, ALL DA BOOTY WE BE SNATCHIN' FROM DESE HUMIES. AND YA AREN'T A GOOD KAPTIN IF YA DON'T HAVE A GOOD CAP TA RUN THROUGH EVERYDAY."

"Alright, tell you what." He stroked his chin. "You go down to the surface and help clear out Ghazghkull's forces. He's stealing all the booty anyways, so it's best you fight back to take what's supposed to be yours. If you help clear the Orks off Armageddon, I will provide you with two large crates of guns... and a hat I know you're gonna love. We have a deal?"

"HMM... YA SOUND LIKE THAT INQUISITOR LADY I GOT ME NEWEST PRIZE FROM." The Ork reached up to his head and carefully took off Adrastia's hat. "AN HOW DO I KNOW YA AREN'T GONNA JUMP SHIP AND REBUFF DA PAYMENT WHEN I DO YER DIRTY WORK?"

"Well, I'm not a dick. I'll also sanction you having a single settlement on the planet once we're done. A place to settle down and whatnot. Hell, I'll even give you a fucking gladiator arena so you can beat the shit out of each other." Silently he reminded himself to ensure that there was at least a single assassin ready on the world in the event that one of the gladiators ever got the bright idea to lead some sort of Ork rebellion. The Space Marine chapter that would call the planet home hopefully would also be ready and able to deal with such a threat were it to spring up. Before such could be pondered, though, the planet had to be cleansed.

"ALRIGHT. WE'LL HELP YA CLEAR OUT THESE ORKS WHO DON'T WANT TA DO DA RIGHT THING AN' HAND THEIR BOOTY OVER TA OL' BLUDDFLAGG. WE GET TA KEEP WHATEVER WE LOOT FROM 'EM, THOUGH."

"Right..." He responded awkwardly. "So how do you kill Orks and make sure they don't come back?"

"An application of high-temperature promethium is enough to vaporize their fungal biomass and ensure that no spores are released." Cyrus responded. "We faced Orks often in the Deathwatch. Many veteran Kill-Marines know about the tactics to eliminate a myriad of alien foes - I am one of them."

"SO WE NEED A BUNCHA BURNAZ, YA SAY?" Bluddflagg responded. "WE GOT ENOUGH O' THAT BURNY LIQUID AROUND DIS 'ERE SHIP TO ROAST WHATEVER THAT GREEDY GROT 'AS PLANNED. JUST TELL ME WHERE YA NEED DA BOYZ AND WE'LL MAKE SURE THAT DEY CRUSH THAT LOONY'S GITZ. PROPHET'A GORK AN' MORK... MUSTA DRANK A LOTTA FUNGUS BEER TO ROT 'IS SENSES AWAY..."

* * *

 _Battle Barge Victus, Armageddon System, 4 955.007.M42_

Seven years. To him, it seemed as though it had been seven decades. Many men had died upon the surface of Armageddon to help force back the Orks - yet the harsh tactics had paid off. Sans remnants who soon were being dispatched by the Freebootaz of Bluddflagg's forces, the Great WAAAGH! had been exterminated. The understanding that Ghazghkull had left them to squabble amongst themselves laid way to infighting - and the consistent use of flame weaponry had ensured no Ork would be replacing their fallen comrades anytime soon. The campaign had literally been scorched earth, Salamanders and Hellhound squadrons from the local Armageddon Steel Legion regiments performed splendidly at ensuring few if any Orks arose from the blackened dirt to fight again.

Aboard the _Victus_ , flagship of the Flesh Tearers' fleet, the millennial was led through the halls by their Chapter Master, Gabriel Seth. Evidently, the Astartes wished to reveal something to the pseudo-Inquisitor, something exceedingly important as the two proceeded through the ancient halls of the vessel. The ship had seen many battles - it had once served during the Great Crusade, a vessel in the fleet of their Primarch himself. Yet history was now forgotten as a locked door, charred the color of blackest night, was opened.

Within were cells. Bars upon bars of Adamantium lined the walls, and within each cell was a Space Marine. Unarmored, their eyes were bloodshot, their flesh reddened as many of them frothed and screamed. Some cried, others yelled great oratories as though they were to individuals non-existing. "This... is what we must struggle with every day."

The millennial moved closer to one of the cells before the Flesh Tearer within lurched towards him. "Traitor legions... I must rend them! SLAUGHTER THEM FOR THE SINS THEY HAVE COMMITTED!" The sudden outburst was enough to make even the now-battle-hardened human lurch back in surprise. "The hell's wrong with him?"

"Rage. The Black Rage." Chapter Master Seth continued. "It is a pernicious stain upon the hearts and souls of every son of Sanguinius. His death has immortally impacted our very being, and even now we suffer from his loss."

"Um... The fuck does the Black Rage do?" He scratched at his chin, trying to understand why a, for all means and purposes, feral Space Marine had been locked away within the ancient warship.

"They feel as He did - they feel his anger as he threw down the daemon Ka'Bandha and shattered the beast's spine over his knee. They feel the rage every Blood Angel sensed after they knew their father was dead. All they are good for now is directing their feral rage against the enemies of the Imperium. The Death Company believe in our existence as heroes of the Imperium - all they know as foes are those of the traitor legions."

"Sounds like visions of paradise... if you guys believe in that sorta thing, that is." The two walked further forward, soon gazing upon the sinister appearance of the Watcher of the Lost himself, Carnarvon, Master of Sanctity. His implants appeared somewhat feral, yet Gabriel knew that before him was the only man to unleash some semblance of sense over the feral minds of those within the Death Company.

"Master Carnarvon..." the Chapter Master began, before soon finding himself cut off.

"Four succumbed yesterday during evening prayer. The servitors have already gone through the rituals and ensured they are prepared for duty when next we need them." Another feral Astartes screamed about his lust for the blood of his enemies as the High Chaplain retained his aura of unnatural calm. "The recruits show no sign of decay. At least, not now. Thank the Emperor even the gene-seed of our feral brothers allows us to continue raising a legion of new men."

"That reminds me..." The human interrupted the dialogue of the two demigods. "Did Mulceber ever get back to you on how things are going with the planting of the Forged Legion?"

"Their structure is sparse - but many within the chapter have found themselves made successful with the assistance of the Salamanders. I admit they've been far more assisting towards the new chapter than I expected - freshly forged as they are. A debt will be eternally owed between them, that I am sure of." Carnarvon was left to tend to his maddened brothers once more as man and Astartes both exited the sacred holding place.

Returning to the bridge, the pair soon found themselves met face to face by an Astartes whose colors appeared new - the metal shone with a heated glow, as though it had come straight out of the forge. A fine suit of Aquila armor it was - the scout who wore it seemed to be a fresh individual. Those within the chapter that would call the planet of Armageddon home came from the War World, sons of the Guard - none were older than twelve at the time of their initiation as Neophytes. To see youth, sparsely even considerable as teenagers, be shaped into genetically engineered superhumans before his eyes in a span of time less than a decade was terrifying. Still, on the other hand, at least they weren't dying horribly at the hands of whatever cruel fate they would have suffered elsewhere on the world.

"My Lord..." The scout gave a bow to the Inquisitor. "I bring a message from our Chapter Master. He wishes for you to formally witness the chapter during their initial evening firing exercises. Your presence will be noted down in our annals of this first day."

"Very well." He responded. Protocol and the understanding of giving a proper image had rubbed off on the once-young defrosted man. Though still reluctant to aggressively utilize the power before him, he was certainly comfortable in his role as a sensible Inquisitor. "Tell me, Scout. What is your name?"

"Aramas, sir." The unhelmeted Astartes responded.

"Good things will come from your future. The future of you and your battle-brothers will be a bright one that shall further the interests of the Imperium throughout the galaxy. I have unfettered faith in you and your chapter."

"Thank you, Inquisitor." Aramas nodded. "We shall reforge the galaxy in the Emperor's name."

Many more Astartes from a myriad of chapters had filtered into the ranks of the millennial's crusade. Many chapters, some familiar, some unfamiliar, had filled the gaps even as more ships had filtered into the armada that now comprised what was practically a battlefleet of its own. Chapters such as the Blood Angels and Ultramarines donated Astartes to the cause - even more unfamiliar groups of Astartes proceeded to assist the Crusade, the Knights Inductor, Conservators, and Mentors among them. More Blackshields had arrived, seemingly without request - perhaps in due time, he would learn more about the enigmatic warriors.

For all the work he had put in, there was still a galaxy's worth of knowledge to learn.


	40. Chapter 42

_Forged Legion Fortress-Monastery, Armageddon, 4 957.007.M42_

For a chapter that had been manufactured out of the gene-seed of the Iron Warriors, the cooling metal of the Forged Legion armor proved... surprising. Still it retained heat, even after the forges of the Salamanders had long since finished with it - yet those who wore the armor felt no pain. No scars or blisters formed on the skin of the Astartes - something seemed somewhat awry. Nevertheless, tests had shown that indeed, there was no mutation.

The millennial had kept his promise. Here he stood before the Space Marines of the new chapter, a gift to the ruined world of Armageddon. He was no economics major - he knew in not the slightest way how to rebuild the wreckage that was this planet. The only thing he could possibly do was heighten the spirits of the many men and women scattered across the planet with a gift - a gift marking the world as a Chapter Homeworld for a group of Adeptus Astartes.

"Men..." The Chapter Master of the new cadre uttered his first words. "Today, for the beginning of our future as guardians of the Imperium, sons of the Emperor's holy light and defenders of humanity - we welcome a guest who is responsible for bestowing such a beloved gift upon our homeworld. Inquisitor Millennium has been the one to ensure our chapter shall stand strong against the wave of terror that threatens mankind." Veradux, formerly a young lad of Armageddon's militias, had been trained by the Salamanders captain himself, prepared for leadership in a proper manner as head of the chapter. "If the Inquisitor wishes to give a few words..."

"Gladly." He perked up. "You have no idea how fucking proud I am of you kids. Downtrodden, believing you were never gonna be able to make it... And then you found your way. You became superhumans that would make some of the people I once knew gawk in awe. I can't say much more about what you'll experience in your new lives - only that it's something I assure you you'll never have experienced before. You'll travel the stars, finally able to get off this rock - not to mention fighting all sorts of enemies along the way, killing millions of monstrosities between you all. I doubt any of you will ever know what 'fun' is - but know that your lifetimes will be more than full of it. Now please... proceed onwards. I insist."

The day began with a prayer to the Emperor - a copious, hour-long prayer that nearly drove the millennial to sleep. He was awoken out of his stupor by the firing of .75 caliber boltguns and other lovely weapons - an opportunity for him to showcase the Volkite Weapon he carried as he sent several bursts of potent energy downrange. "This is a Volkite Serpenta. It's the gun the bolt pistol replaced. Long story short, it's more powerful, but unfortunately doesn't have the same range. Pretty much none of these are around anymore because of how complicated they are - and here I'm talking to you guys, who have way more knowledge of how to work with guns than I do."

Two hours into the day came what Veradux referred to as 'battle practice.' The whir of chainswords coalesced with the clattering of their ceramite teeth against the energy-coated crevasses of the power weapons those viewed as 'veterans' utilized. The combat was hardly intended to be lethal, though some marines found their armor scratched and scraped by the end of battle. It was with this that lunch was served - a rather modest affair, chiefly fill of nutrient paste and some sort of enriched liquid that evidently provided the Astartes with sustenance. For the pseudo-Inquisitor himself, a grox burger was placed before him, and though he eyed it with suspicion, he was soon biting into it, proclaiming it to be "the best cheeseburger I've ever had."

So caught up was he in the nostalgic offering of food that he almost missed the summations of tactical indoctrination. Spoken to the individual companies was information regarding the effectiveness of different weapon types against the thick armor found upon some of the strongest defended foes of the Imperium. Such enemies as Terminator Champions, Ork Warbosses, and even Tau Commanders in their battlesuits were the sort referenced - Eldar and Dark Eldar splintered like twigs, as did the infernal forces of Traitor Guard and lesser Orks. Tests utilizing thick segments of adamantium indicated to the Astartes that bolters were highly ineffective against such defenses - melta and las-weapons were better choices, as were missile launchers. Plasma weapons were superior to bolters, and found themselves considered the best all-around weapon for both anti-infantry and anti-armor work.

More battle practice commenced, this time on a larger scale - the Astartes fought one another in melee combat once more, training ammunition utilized as they were split into two even teams. Each wore an armband, white or black, indicating their side, and such proved the best option as the black team soon gained a victory over the white team, forcing through a pair of Terminators with a rush from an Assault Terminator shoved between them by a jetpack-equipped Assault Marine. It was from there that gene-seed testing commenced, ensuring the purity of all those who had become Space Marines.

The evening ended with a fine feast fit for a king, the best rations Armageddon could find gathered together to produce an at least somewhat scrumptious meal. Though the millennial mumbled to himself about the quality of military rations having somehow decreased since his incarceration in a cryotube, he still indulged, tasting a form of nut cream upon crackers made of a grain he could scarcely identify. It seemed as though it were a snack - yet it was miraculously filling to a degree he failed to expect. Soon the Techmarines within the legion, trained by the local tech-priest and the Techmarines of the Salamanders companies that had assisted in the war on the Orks, examined every piece of wargear the Astartes had in order to ensure the proper rites and rituals were followed to ensure maximum efficiency.

It was then that free time was given. Now was the opportunity the millennial took to escape, leaving a message for the nearest chapter serf to pass on to Veradux. Getting aboard his Arvus Lighter, a flight was soon organized to the newest settlement - 'Aven. Home of the Orks.

* * *

 _'Aven, Armageddon, 4 959.007.M42_

A deal had been reached with Bluddflagg upon the end of the Third War for Armageddon - so long as the Orks were kept within a single settlement and did not attempt to spread out, they could stay. Arisen from the ruins and rubble had come the settlement of 'Aven, a haven for those Ork Freebootaz within his warband to amuse themselves. The central arena was used to solve fights, for simple bloodshed, or even to showcase the latest creation of one of the Mekboyz(usually ending in lots of dead Orkz and wreckage everywhere). Bluddflagg now retained control of the band as the self-proclaimed Overfiend, occasionally smacking down anyone who attempted to take his position while taking a constant tribute from those beneath him in the form of a single hat per day.

As the armored human sat down in a seat within the arena, made of what looked like Rhino tracks bent over some scrap steel, he appreciated the fact that he was in armor. If he wasn't, he probably would've gotten tetanus from the amount of rust beneath him. Peering out, he put on his helmet and stared down at the crowd below. Every Ork at least had a pistol - Sluggas, they were called - and raucously cheered as the combat began to commence.

"AIGHT, BOYZ," the announcer began, "WE'Z GOT A GUD FIGHT FO' YA TA EXPERIENCE! YOU'S BUNCHA GROTS GOTTA REMEMBA TA GET IN DA LINE AND JOIN DA FIGHTS!" Immediately some of the Orks left their seats - anything that would lead to a good fight would definitely be something they would go for.

"IN DA YELLOW KORNA, WE'Z GOT DA FIFTY DAY CHAMPION ORK BOSS, GRIMDEFF CHOPDAKKA!" A large collection of Orks with yellow face-paint cheered for their champion, firing off rounds into the roof. "AN' IN DA BLACK KORNA, HERE'Z DA COMPETIN' BOY WHO'S WANNA TAKE DA TEEF FOR 'IS OWN, BOSS NOB HIDEWRECKA!" An Ork covered in copious amounts of black paint and metal gave a roar, and a lesser number of Orks cheered for him.

"AIGHT, BOYZ - YOU'Z KNOW DA RULEZ. NO SHOOTIN' DAKKA AT DA FIGHTAS, AN' NO THROWIN' CHOPPY BITS. I'Z WAN' A GUD CLEAN FIGHT! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

With that loud cry from what he assumed to be the referee, the millennial watched the two Orks descend into a straight up flurry of wanton destruction towards one another. Brutal bludgeoning seemed to be the name of the game as the gladiators smashed at each others' armored bodies with fists covered in scrap metal and pointy bits. It took mere minutes for a winner to be decided as the Ork from the yellow corner pounded the body of his competitor into a thin mush, leaving his lifeless head free so the teeth could be removed - such was his purse, after all. The crowd cheered in feral glee, stikkbombs going off as shots of Ork ammunition flew through the air.

"WE'Z GOT ANY MORE GROTS WHO'Z WANNA TAKE DA CHAMP ON?" The announcer's voice boomed loudly over the sound system.

"I'll take 'im." A voice spoke out from the crowd from an albino Or- No... that wasn't an Ork at all. That was an Ogryn.

"AN' WHO MITE YOU BE?"

"ME NAME IS DERM! DERM DEFRA! I BE 'ERE TO WIN DIS FIGHT FOR DA EMPRAH!" The Ogryn fired off several rounds from his ripper gun into the air for effect - he was certainly massive enough to pose at least the slightest of threats to the Ork Champion.

"AITE! WE'Z GOT A NEW ONE! ONE O' DOSE BIG HUMIES, NOT DA BEAKY ONES 'DO." The Ork crowd gave loud boos and hisses as the Ogryn took a small leap(for him) over the edge and into the arena. Readying his firearm, the abhuman readied himself for the fight ahead, worn armor covering his body as best it could.

"I'Z WAN' YOU TA HAVE A CLEAN FIGHT! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" The referee yelled as the two moved towards one another. Even as the Ork screamed, the Imperial Sergeant merely fired all the rounds within his Ripper Gun before moving in, both hands wrapped around the warmed bull barrel of his weapon. With a fury unseen, he screamed out, a loud crack resonating through the arena as the wooden stock of his weapon smashed against the head of the fungal creature. Teeth flew from its mouth as it staggered back, another blow in the opposite direction causing more disorientation to the giant. A smash to its leg caused the champion to fall backwards - and from there, he began to punch the Ork in the face again and again. Bloody knuckles signified their impact with the few remaining teeth in the Ork's mouth until he slammed the butt of the weapon down right between the eyes. A crunch signified he had broken bone, remnants of something within the beast's head seeping out its ears.

"I... I'Z CAN'T BELIEVE IT... BOYZ, WE'Z GOT A NEW CHAMPION!" Orks rushed the arena, taking the injured Derm and placing him on their shoulders - to them, he had proven himself as a fighter, taking on the biggest and meanest of them all in the arena. The millennial leaned backwards in his chair, the support holding his back up snapping as he tumbled head over heels. As he slowly regained his footing, he reminded himself of the Ogryn he had once met.

Perhaps he would be useful as part of the crusade.


	41. Chapter 43

_Forged Legion Fortress-Monastery, Armageddon, 4 986.007.M42_

The matter had apparently been urgent enough for the Millennial to have been rustled to wakefulness, despite an order not to be disturbed. Slowly, he put on the repaired Adept robe, now sewn with emblems of the Inquisition to identify him despite being but a mere temporary garment. As he stepped outside, an eyebrow was immediately raised as he heard the ritual chanting of servitors down the hall. A Forged Legionnaire, replete in the heat-radiating power armor they wore, stood before a box inscribed with sacred words.

Slowly, he stepped towards the group, before the Astartes turned to him, the perpetually gleaming metal of his plate reflecting the silvered exterior of the box as the human attempted to open it - the top was excessively heavy, and with a groan, he relaxed his muscles, finding he could not see what was inside. With a slight scald, however, the top of the chest was soon opened as the Millennial peered inside.

"What's the big deal?" He reached down, grabbing a large piece of black metal inscribed with barely legible symbols. "It's just a chunk of metal." Only after holding it a bit longer did he begin to feel a tingle in his fingers, strange whispers scratching at the back of his mind as he dropped the fragment.

"This is a fragment... of the Black Blade of Angron." The Space Marine explained the significance of the relic as the Inquisitor immediately froze, twitching a bit - Angron was one of the Primarchs, one who turned against the Emperor at that. What was part of his sword doing on this world?

"Angron invaded this planet. His sword was destroyed in the battle by a mighty Astartes of great power. All fragments of his weapon were taken away - all except for this."The Millennial winced, motioning for one of the servitors to pick it up. It made his spine shudder simply from whatever malevolent energy resonated from it.

"Alright then. Imma stick it in a cube of glass and use it as a paperweight. Er, vellum-weight. It should be a nice desk ornament along with some of the other things I've acquired over the years." He turned directly to the servitor whose claw-like hand now held the shard of the ancient daemon weapon. "Dip it in a cube of glass, m'kay? Once it's ready, bring it to me and I'll take it back to the _Cryptic Retribution_."

The laissez-faire attitude he showed towards such a relic would seem surprising to other Inquisitors - though he figured the best possible option would be to keep it out of skin-to-skin contact. Coating the infernal relic in layer after layer of thick crystalline glass would make it exceptionally difficult to shed the carapace and use the piece of the sword for any arcane purpose.

As he turned away, a hand caught him on the shoulder - the pulsating touch of electricity indicating who it was. "Inquisitor... We have something rather interesting to discuss."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "And what would that be?"

Dalia turned to face him, energy coursing over her flesh as was proper for the highly advanced cybernetics so deeply integrated into her flesh. "Your fleet has, for all intents and purposes, been mostly formed. The Oort Cloud graveyard has reaped many ships, as has the message. We have hundreds, if not thousands of disused vessels gathered as a part of the Alpha Crusade. I wish to take you to them so you may survey your fleet."

"Such sounds like a plan to me." He nodded, knowing that in time he would be calling upon the resources of the Forged Legion once more - once the other chapters were planted.

* * *

 _Battlefleet Alpha, The Void, 5 024.008.M42_

It truly was a testament to the Imperium that so many ships had successfully been gathered together in a single place. Vessels of every single size lined the vast lanes of space, smaller tugboat-like ships having arranged them perfectly into formation over an unknown period of time. Despite this, most if not all still seemed lifeless, empty corpses in the void of space.

"Well... What have you got for me?" He turned to Dalia, looking out and trying to understand what was to be the flagship of the magnificent armada once it was finished.

"A vessel acquired from the orbit of a junk world - an archaic Desolator-class Battleship." She fidgeted a bit. "I might as well warn you now. These ships were never removed from service due to non-functionality. They were scrapped because Chaos was able to get their hands on most of them. The type has a bad reputation connected to it thanks to such - not due to any technical flaw." He sighed in response, looking down the vessel's length.

"It looks like that old SSD... In fact..." He stroked his chin. "What was this ship previously called?"

"The vessel was once known as the _Frontispiece Bellum_. It was shunted to a reserve fleet after most of the class was lost to Chaos, though its service record was impressive. If the vessel's history is true, it successfully managed to destroy a rogue Desolator prior to it escaping to the Eye of Terror. I believe this is due to it having previously received the same upgrades as the infamous vessel known as the _Eternity of Pain_. Higher-powered lance weapons and long-range gun decks ensured it was capable of engaging enemy vessels well before it found itself threatened."

"Aight, well I'm not calling it the _Frontiswhatever_. Looks more like an _Executor_ or a _Sovereign_. I dunno..." He pondered a bit before tossing out a name he agreed with. " _Eclipse_. That's this vessel's new name. Fits with how it looks and what I think it'll do."

"Very well... We also have a myriad of other vessels that should certainly fit within the fleet. We've managed to acquire a couple Repulsive hulls that were slated for Rogue Trader fleets, as well as some Cardinal cruisers that have long been laid up. Many ships reclaimed from pirates in less than stellar shape have also been gained." She motioned, pointing out a myriad of other vessels. "I assume you wish for all our freighters to be armed in the event we need to reinforce our supply lines without forcing warships to redirect from their confrontations with enemy fleets. Keeping up the offensive will assumedly be required once we begin to force our way into their domain."

"Makes sense to me." He nodded, looking the vessel over as his craft drifted by it. "Does it still have an atmosphere?"

"Our salvagers have gone on board. They report that the battleship's atmospheric systems are active. I suppose we could take a look at the vessel, if need be." She turned away, a pulse running down her neck as her complex cybernetics indicated their presence once again. Soon he would be on board his new flagship, the vessel that would take him on a crusade to rival all crusades.

* * *

 _Desolator-class Battleship Eclipse, The Void, 5 025.008.M42_

The ship seemed rather spacious on the inside. He could only assume that such was due to whatever level of stripping the vessel had undergone as a part of the reserve fleet it had been attached to. Its main reactor was idle, though basic lighting was on throughout the vessel. Soon they traveled through the carcass to the bridge, spacious as it was. Desolator-class vessels hadn't been produced for a period of over eight thousand years, and though the vessel was old, it still featured what could be considered cutting-edge design rarely if ever seen in modern vessels.

That said, it did lack some features when compared to Imperial battleships commonly in use. Its main guns were less focused in broadsides, forcing the ship to turn at odd angles towards the enemy in order to unleash a maximum quantity of firepower. It also lacked an armored prow - though the millennial had no intention of suicidally ramming his flagship into another enemy vessel. Still, a lack of forward armor meant the Desolator would see more damage when directly engaging an enemy ship - assuming that the long-range weapon systems failed to strike first.

Other vessels in the fleet could be seen from outside the transparent windows of the lifeless warship. Most notable was a Slaughter-class Cruiser off the port bow, a ship whose lights seemed to be flickering on and off. The inquisitor pointed towards the vessel, a pondering look on his face as he turned his head to meet Dalia's gaze. "What's going on with that ship over there?"

"The Slaughter's Scartix Engine Coil is still functional, and the vessel was still fueled when we acquired it from an Imperial storage depot. It appears that the reason the ship found itself decommissioned was the fact that none of the tech-priests assigned to its fleet knew how to adequately operate the engine. We have a team on board the ship now, attempting to restart main power and see if the vessel is functional." At least that was one ship he didn't have to worry about.

Suddenly a massive gout of colored ionic flame burst from the vessel's engines, every porthole on the ship glistening a bright yellow-white color as the vessel began to slowly maneuver in between the time-worn fleet of varying vessels. A hail came in from the ship on the millennial and Dalia's communicator, which they quickly responded to.

"This is the _Criticality_. We are testing all systems to determine what will need to be refitted and replaced." This was the closest thing to good news that the Millennial had heard about his ships in years.

"We hear you, _Criticality_. Keep the testing going." He disabled his comms, smiling as he turned to Dalia once more. "This is shaping up to be an absolutely glorious effort. In due time, I'm almost certain we'll have one of the most powerful battlefleets in the Imperium. Then we can take the fight to Chaos like we need to. Or the Orks, or whatever the fuck tries to wreck our shit. Humanity, fuck yeah."

She gave him a tired look, one clearly indicating how frustrated she was regarding his response - yet she had functioned as his aid to the arts of technology for a period of so long a time that she understood his mannerisms, how he responded. "There are still many other ships. And you of course still require millions, if not billions of loyal men and women to crew such mighty vessels. I would hardly be celebrating."

"You need to relax, Dalia." He sighed, leaning back in a captain's chair that was entirely stripped to bare metal, discomfort held at bay by the armor he wore as he rested his guarded palm on a disabled console. "Not everything needs to be so super serious all the time. C'mon, live a little."

In her opinion, she had already lived for a little - a little too long. The curse of nigh-immortality she suffered from thanks to what she had been fitted with grated at her every day. Her suffering was greater than his own, having to stay awake each fragment of her vigil, forced time and time again to hear the trauma and knowing there was nothing she could do about it. Still, this was a goal to press forward towards, something to strive to achieve. And with the help of Astartes, the Emperor's chosen sons, what could stop them from fulfilling his greatest desire? What possible force could intervene itself, could disrupt years of planning in order to break someone who was quite possibly the most sane and rational individual in the Imperium?

They would soon find out.


	42. Chapter 44

_Desolator-class Battleship Eclipse, The Void, 5 031.008.M42_

Silently, something stalked through the engines of the ancient hulk. Already a man had died from its claws - claws of nothing mortal at all. A daemonette stalked through the corridors, seeking its prey - sent by its master, Miriael Sabathiel, to avenge her loss at the hands of the millennial those years ago. This daemonette - one of Slaanesh's own heralds, known to mortals as Lalmukul, soon phased her - no, its - way through the vessel. The psykers on board sensed the presence as it darted towards a single location.

The millennial's room.

He was fiddling with a cogitator when the Warp entity arrived, claws outstretched, body posed sensually. He reached a hand out, grasping the Volkite Serpenta and aiming it at the being even as it stepped towards him in a svelte manner, sensually smiling with every motion. Such seductive steps were rarely seen even in mortal women - in a Warp entity, it was all but natural.

"Who the fuck are you and how did you get in here?" He was lacking in armor, though he still wielded the weapon as best he could. "Take one more step, and I shoot." Lalmukul seemed to get the message, instead sitting down in a chair some several feet away.

"I have come to serve you, to please you in any manner requested on behalf of my mistress." It smiled at him, feminine features shifting and changing, trying to probe at his mind and form themselves into, in his mind, the face of the perfect woman. Still they changed until, for the slightest moment, Lal sensed something in his eye. Yes, these would be the appearance she utilized in order to deceive him, to twist him to the service of her liege, make him a pawn in the grand game.

"Yeah, well I'm not in the mood for that sorta shit. I do have this rig I'd like to try out, though." He motioned to the cogitator string, along with two cords that stuck out from it, cords connected to what appeared to be a pair of joysticks. "You want in?"

Well, this wasn't what Lalmukul expected. Cautiously, her clawed fingers grasped the controller, eyeing the screen with curiosity. "How is this supposed to work?" She sat down once again, not in the chair, but in his lap. It only seemed to frustrate him more.

"Look, can you either play like a normal fucking being, or fuck off? I just want to have some fun the way things used to be before the galaxy went to shit." He slowly stood up, shrugging her to the floor before staring back at the screen. Then, the unthinkable happened.

The daemonette began to cry.

While he loathed Chaos, the corrupting force of man and alien alike... he couldn't help it. Seeing someone cry brought out in him the rare urge to comfort, to try and make things better. "Hey, don't cry..." He moved, placing his arm underneath her own and helping her back into the other chair as the crying slowly stopped. "You alright?"

"Silly mortal..." For a moment, he would feel ecstasy - the feeling of pleasure coursing through his body with a terrifying shudder before it ceased. A greasy ichor coated the exterior of his chair as he fell back, head turned upwards as his eyelids fluttered in agony. Attempts to move his arms and legs in a coherent manner only brought forth spasms and thrashing about from his limbs. Whatever Lalmukul had done to him, it seemed he would require medical attention once more as his mind phased out, the last thing he spotted being a masked individual staring down on him.

A mask with horns.

* * *

 _Armed Freighter Cryptic Retribution, The Void, 5 055.008.M42_

For over a week, he had sat unconscious within the medical bay of his vessel, all while more ships were reactivated within the grandiose fleet. Slowly he twitched to life, trying his best to sit back up, only for a Sister Hospitalier to forcibly sit him back down. "Relax. You spent nearly a week unconscious, only able to mumble about some senseless xeno-babble. You're not well yet."

"Yeah, thanks for the info." He removed the heartbeat monitor from his finger, disconnecting some sort of bolt connected to the metal of his torso before slowly taking a first step out of the bed. "Fuck... I feel like I've had pins and needles for weeks. The fuck happened to me?"

"There was a large amount of an unknown substance in your bloodstream causing your nervous system to fire in a haywire manner. You were experiencing more sensations than the human body was ever designed to feel. We put you under in order to let the substance peter its way out of your flesh, and it should be clean. We also discovered a note on your dataslate from the xenos witch you captured - she is nowhere to be found."

"Xenos... But she wasn't there. It was... a daemon that did this, yes. And it was killed by something wearing a horned mask."

She merely ignored his comments, taking the dataslate and handing it to him so he could examine the message she had given him.

 _To the Inquisitor,  
I do my best to apologize to you with regards to my unexplained absence, but I can no longer participate in this. There is something greater to focus on. Something far more important than this pointless feud. I must go back to Commorragh, to assist my mother with regards to her conflict with Drazhar, who even now grows close to surpassing her in the gladiatorial arenas. I leave you only with one word of advice - never speak to a Solitaire. None that you ever see. Bad things shall happen if one day you do. Removing their mask is an even worse sin, and you will likely die, no matter how capable a combatant you think yourself.  
_ _Perhaps one day we will meet again, but until then, farewell.  
Reri  
_

"The fuck..." He frowned, reading the message over. "She'd up and out abandon me like this? What the shit..."

Slowly he stood up, ignoring the Hospitalier who stared back at him even as he began to move around again. "We have a lot of work to get done. Time to get off my ass and move onward." There would be a lot to get done.

Certainly, considering the circumstances.

* * *

 _Desolator-class Battleship Eclipse, Segmentum Ultima, 5 080.008.M42_

The one thing he disliked hearing more than anything else was of complications. The Millennial, though he rarely showed it, loathed to his very core the feeling when something went wrong. And from what he could tell, that moment had finally arrived.

The _Eclipse_ had successfully been reactivated, and though its weapons were in only a semi-functional state, its engines had been repaired from the damage the daemon had wrought, ensuring that it would be ready for conflict when the time was right, but hordes of servitors and tech-priest still swarmed over the vessel's weapons, attempting to bring the millennia-old guns to bear in the event of an attack that could potentially occur at any moment.

That moment appeared to have arrived. In orbit of the nearest world, a vessel seemed to showcase itself. The ship's type was unknown, but it appeared to be of a Battleship class unseen by anything in the Imperium. Though seemingly underarmed, he expected it to likely be equipped with some form of exotic weapon system. Standing at the bridge of the vessel, he stared out into the void before one of the helmsmen turned to look at him. "My Lord, we are being hailed by the unknown vessel."

"Weird. Put them on screen."

The image that appeared was... not what he expected. Staring back at him was a humanoid looking alien, with blue skin and large eyes. Four digits were on the xenos' hand, and on the forehead of the alien being was a triangular-shaped... he honestly wasn't entirely sure what it was. "I am Captain Por'O'Shasan of the Tau Empire. You are trespassing in our territory. State your business, or we will open fire."

Well, that seemed simple enough. "And are you the boss? I only talk with the boss, and you don't look much like him, no offense." The Tau in question wasn't heavily adorned with gold and jewels - something the Imperium had showcased to the Millennial as representative of status and position.

"I am... captain of this vessel." The alien seemed a bit confused by what he was asking. "If you are referencing my superior, Kor'O'Valroth shall be in system within four weeks. Until then, you will need to be detained. Such is in the interest of the Greater Good, to ensure a lack of hostilities."

"Yeah... no. I'm not surrendering this ship. Not considering how new it is. And what the hell is the Greater Good?"

"The Greater Good is a path all Tau strive to abide by. It is the ultimate goal for our kind - for all to function in their place, performing the duties they are best made for. When all are harmonized with one another, then we may press forward towards a more successful, prosperous and easier existence." He gave a smile - surprising. The Inquisitor scarsely expected such a relaxed reaction considering the situation.

"Sounds sort of interesting. Perhaps we could talk more about this at a better time that doesn't involve us having guns pointed at one another. Your ship doesn't exactly look like tough shit, but I'm not a big fan of seeing my own vessel pointlessly scarred and wrecked. You wanna talk somewhere? Maybe over a bite to eat?"

Now the shoe was on the other foot once more. "There are... a myriad of locations on the planet below where one may eat. Should you desire to partake of our foodstuffs, I see no reason we cannot meet and further discuss such topics as you have interest in."

"Aight, see you down there." He motioned with his hand to cut the feed, severing the link to the Gal'leath Battleship. "Alright... How long'll it take us to get the weapons working?"

"An intriguing bluff." Dalia spoke up. "The vessel has less than twenty-five percent weapon functionality, and the flight bays are completely empty. We also lack the crew required to successfully repulse a boarding action, though the quality of our crewmen should help ensure such a task would not be successful. But if they scan us to determine our capabilities, the-"

"The game's up, yeah." He nodded. "I know. We do have the guns locked on his ship, though. He doesn't need to know that our ship isn't what it appears to be. And who am I to change his ignorance with a touch of gnosis?" The deception would remain in place - at least until other vessels arrived. Soon he returned to his room, putting on his suit of armor once more as he pondered over how to best prepare for the inevitable struggle.

A rustle on the far side of the room caught his ear. Before he could turn his head, he found himself face down on the floor, an assailant on top of him and preventing him from getting up. He struggled, attempting to roll to the side and regain his position on a stable footing, but still failed to do so. It was as though the mass of whoever was on top of him seemed unnaturally heavy. A strange twinkling sound resonated in his room, and as he rolled over, the faint glimpse of a chequered pattern showcased itself to his eyes - a chequered pattern worn by an individual with a set of horns upon their mask. For now, he would stay silent. If he spoke..

Who knew what sort of fate would await him?


	43. Chapter 45

_Desolator-class Battleship Eclipse, Segmentum Ultima, 5 080.008.M42_

Ruination had seemingly come to the Millennial's future once more. He silently stared at the chequered pattern of the Solitaire's clothing, further examining it. It was two tones of red - a vibrant scarlet and a dull crimson, distinguishable enough that it seemed nearly an optical illusion, all things considered. It looked down at him - with its guise, the entity shrouded in such a sea of colorful fabric that he was unable to even determine whether a man or woman lay behind the mask.

He shifted, slowly attempting to sit up as he pondered what to do. Whatever this individual was, they wanted something more than his death. He scratched his head, slowly but surely moving back to a standing position as the disguised Eldar cocked its head. He raised a finger, wanting to say something, but remembered what Reri had said to him, instead angrily pointing at the door, as though ordering it to get out. The Solitaire shook its head, causing the Inquisitor to facepalm with a passion.

 _Fucking dammit, how do I get this shit out of here..._

His eyes stuck for a moment on the datapad before moving to grasp it. He typed in a quick message, handing it over to the concealed Harlequin.

 **Get out of my room, mate.**

The Solitaire responded through grabbing the offered text-slate and typing in a message of its own, head angled in a pondering manner as it continued to fill the pad with digits. Soon, after assumedly comprising a message it was satisfied by, the Eldar handed the device back to the Inquisitor.

 **An intriguing loophole, mon'keigh. It seems you listened to the words of advice you were given. You should be more careful - for next time I may not have cause to save you.  
**

Another pass-back.

 **You obviously have some reason for doing this. And I did ask you to leave...**

 **You expect me to leave? Very well - though I suggest you keep an eye out. There are more to these aliens than meets the eye.** With that, the Solitaire... disappeared. Into thin air. The human even reached forward, waving his hand through where it had been standing mere seconds before. There was no trace of it. Perhaps... perhaps he had imagined the entire thing, the Solitaire being nothing more than a subconscious reaction by the fear deep within him.

Or perhaps it was all true.

Regardless as to the sincerity of the xenos, or whether the encounter was real or not, he was too awake to return to peaceful slumber. At least, tonight he was. Slowly getting to his feet, he put on a flimsy t-shirt and a pair of thin shorts before exiting his quarters to explore the rest of the deck. After all, he'd only seen the ship from the outside. There had to have been plenty inside the ship he could find and examine.

"Sir?" A male voice perked up - it was a human, a Guardsman at that, lasrifle at the ready. "The bridge officer told me to come and find you. Seems those Tau are wanting to send someone over. Wouldn't do it without your approval, sir!" The enthusiasm in his voice sharply contrasted with the sense of war-weariness he gave off. His face looked somewhat eroded, as though he had been in an environment of dust storms and torpid winds for years, a scar across one side of his head, a set of dull purple eyes that... Wait, when did normal humans have purple eyes?

"What... regiment are you from?" He pondered for a moment, trying his best to not look too threatened by the abnormality of the guardsman before him.

"Cadian 412th, sir." He lowered his head a bit, almost in shame. "We were mostly splintered after the war on Lorn V. Eldar broke our regiment apart. What could evacuate from the world managed to get out of the subsector. Damned knife-eared bastards killed many of my men."

"Yeah... They sure can be treacherous." He shrugged. "Before I... get to work..." He yawned. "What's your name and rank?"

"Sergeant Lukas Bastonne, sir."

"Alright then... Carry on, Sergeant Bastonne." With that, he walked away, headed towards the bridge where the second set of crew were waiting, the bridge officer staring at a Tau hologram with a crass and frustrated look.

"I told you, I'm not going to be making any receptions until I get word back from..." He turned, staring at the Inquisitor who still was wearing his most basic clothing. A yawn came from his lips as he turned to the man in charge for the time being.

"This better be pretty fucking important... I just got woken up, and I might end up angry because of this. And you won't like me when I'm angry. Trust me on that."

"Inquisitor, the Greater Good calls forth. Such is why we have taken the drastic step of summoning one of the most revered of Ethereals to meet with you. We respectfully request that you prepare to receive a shuttle from our ship." The captain of the large battleship spoke in a calm, relaxed tone. The millennial pondered how such could be so - especially considering the number of lives in his crew that were undoubtedly at risk. Either something else was at play, the ruse had been discovered... or perhaps this was merely a shell of an illusion.

"Seems legit. I'll order some of my crew to receive you in Hangar... What hangars do we have cleared out?"

"Hangar 72E is the only one fully cleared." It seemed the bridge officer would indeed prove useful.

"Gotcha. Send your ship to Hangar 72E on board our vessel. I look forward to receiving your Ethereal." With the communication now cut, preparations were underway. "Alright... I want a bomb squad ready to check the shuttle for rigged explosives. You can never be too sure. I also want a squad of guardsmen, close combat-trained, down there as well." He looked down, surveying the situation, practically wearing rags to meet with royalty.

"Oh, and a set of decent clothes."

* * *

 _Hangar 72E, Desolator-class Battleship Eclipse, 5 081.008.M42_

"You have no idea how frustrated I am." He sighed, taking the main elevator shaft down to deck 72. Next to him stood Dalia, who was more of sound mind considering her cybernetics, and hopefully could be a bit more rational than him. In concert with that was a squad of Catachan Jungle Fighters, knives brandished and at the ready in the event things went wrong. Also in the elevator was a team of heavily-armored guardsmen from the Death Korps of Krieg, their gas masks perfectly integrated into the thickened suits of heavy carapace armor they wore for bomb squad duties. The somewhat stifling breathing of the Kriegers set the Inquisitor on edge as he sighed, the doors finally opening.

"Alright, everyone to your places!" The sergeant of the Catachan squad motioned with his blade, the edge mere inches away from the face of the millennial as he pointed forwards, overly muscled and vested guardsmen taking their places on either side of the landing strip. Hangar crew shuffled about as they did their best to try and sort the last bits of rubble away, leaving the Ethereal's shuttle plenty of room to land when it did so. The Krieg bomb squad themselves stayed close behind the archaic human and the tech-priest, waiting for the events of this to end almost as much as they awaited the opportunity to perform a task for a servant of the Emperor.

Soon, the vessel from the Tau battleship arrived - a rather conventional craft, albeit with a front section the shape of a saucer. Cautiously landing within the cavernous bay, it swiftly turned around, the rear door opening as a pair of armored individuals stepped out, weapons at the ready. These were the Fire Warriors of the Tau Empire - but they were merely guardians. Out from the center of the ramp stepped an individual taller than the armored Tau next to him, with gold fringe around his white clothing - somewhat ragged for a leading member of a noted galactic power. A large bladed weapon, something that looked like a halberd of exceptional length, was in his four-digited hand. The Kriegers moved forward to begin with their examination, though the Fire Warriors stayed motionless.

"Checking your ship for bombs. Can never be too careful, after all." He scratched his head, nose slightly tilted up to ensure he was looking directly at the Ethereal. "Then again, I wouldn't be going full-scale paranoia if it wasn't for, you know... being woken up in the middle of the night over this whole thing." The Kriegers moved into the shuttle, looking for, well... something, anything that could be an explosive device.

"I understand and respect your views, but we mean you no harm - only to talk and negotiate." Aun'shi spoke with a voice almost unnaturally soothing. "We are merely in this system to colonize and claim worlds devastated as a part of your Imperium's prior war with us. Still we cleanse the taint of those insectoid aliens - Tyranids, you call them - from our worlds."

"Huh. Well... Not sure what really to say. I haven't encountered them that much." A half-truth, albeit one fitting enough. "My fellows in the Ordo Xenos would be more knowledgeable about such matters than I." The time he had spent reading up and preparing had certainly assisted him in filling in the gaps he knew a sincere Inquisitor would not have, yet still the archaic mannerisms from his time somewhat persisted.

"Yes... Considering the prior agreement between your government and ours, it is some wonder that little was done to assist with the cleansing away of the alien hordes. Such would have been more beneficial for the Greater Good." He shifted the area of flesh where an eyebrow would be. "Once the world is cleansed, we will make it suitable for living once more."

"Wait..."

"Yes?" The Ethereal perked up. Something he said had acquired the human's attention.

"So you can make completely dead planets suitable for life? Like, even if the surface of the world was turned to ash and the atmosphere was burned away?"

"Indeed." Aun'shi nodded. "We have such technologies to allow for the release of an atmosphere plant life thrives in. It may take decades, certainly, but the world can be returned to a habitable state regardless of the critical damage done to it. Why do you inquire of such?"

"No particular reason..." Another half-truth - more a mistruth than such. If this terraforming technology was truly in the Tau's hands, it could be used on other Imperial worlds in order to make them habitable again, regardless of whatever level of destruction they had previously experienced. Of course it wouldn't work on worlds that had been completely blasted into nothing but chunks of rock, but he understood such. "As-is, what exactly is the Greater Good? I swear it's all Tau talk about, yet no one's really explained to me what it is or how Tau culture revolves around it."

"Through sacrifice of self for the betterment of the whole, the whole may become something greater. I am as important to the cause of the Greater Good as the lowliest of mechanics, or the youngest of children. It is because we function in unison, each a small cog in a great machine, that we have grown in a span of mere thousands of years, a far cry from the technological stagnation of your people. We continue to strive above, to better ourselves so that by doing so, we may better all others." Well, that certainly seemed like a noble goal.

"Admittedly, this terraforming stuff interests me." He nodded. "I'm a bit different from my fellow Inquisitors when it comes to alien technology. Your regeneration of dead worlds to recolonize them could certainly prove to be the greatest of boons - though I would admittedly need to conceal its origin. You know, frustrated people."

"In that case..." The Ethereal motioned to the doors of the hangar bay, wishing for talks to proceed elsewhere. "Perhaps we can, as you humans say...

...cut a deal."


	44. Chapter 46

_Desolator-class Battleship Eclipse, Segmentum Ultima, 5 082.008.M42_

"You do realize what you're suggesting, correct?"

Dalia's chastising had been one of the many things the millennial had been forced to ponder over since his meeting with the Ethereal. The possibility of acquiring terraforming technology that could be used to restore worlds laid low by Exterminatus was something he simply couldn't throw away, but at the same time, utilizing such a blatant piece of xeno technology would certainly have the Imperium's ass on him, regardless of the situation he had been placed in.

"Well... we could always reverse engineer them and claim we innovated them. Or maybe some bullshit about 'wooga booga ancient human tech' or something like that." It seemed the simplest solution, and as far as he knew, a reverse-engineered 'life torpedo,' or whatever the hell they would name it, wouldn't be easily identifiable as Tau technology.

"The Adeptus Mechanicus are an attentive lot." Dalia crossed her arms in agitation. "Do you honestly think you'll be able to pass this by them?"

"Sure. I mean, we're talking about people who think that the Leman Russ is still a good tank design. There's a reason tanks of my day didn't mount side sponsons - people in the Imperium seem to have no idea what the fuck sloped armor is. If they just fucking angled their front plate sixty degrees, they could effectively double their forward armor thickness."

"True, but the advantages of having sponson-mounted weaponry have been showcased on the battlefield. Look at the Leman Russ Executioner - with plasma guns in the sponsons and its main weapon being a Plasma Destroyer, it can unleash more anti-armor firepower than a tank without sponsons."

"Well yeah..." He conceded that point, but proceeded to continue backing his own. "But the Leman Russ is a tank with flat sides begging for HEAT rounds to cause spalling on the inside. Not to mention the rear armor is some of the weakest I've ever seen on a tank classified as 'medium.'"

"It serves as a simple enough chassis for us to modify and utilize for a myriad of purposes. The Chimera also serves a similar purpose." Another point - the Leman Russ and the Chimera were both so exceedingly common as chassis that almost eighty percent of Imperial mechanized or armored ground forces were based on vehicles using those two chassis. And if one included the Rhino-derived vehicles used by the Sororitas and Space Marines...

"Alright, I get the picture. I still wanna go through with this terraforming deal, though."

"Without even considering what it is this xeno will want? You've been an Inquisitor for over eight years now, and still your naivety shows."

"This is gonna help the Imperium. And if the Mechanicus have an issue with it, too fucking bad. I've spent eight years beating the shit out of super-jolly green giants, and I'd like to actually get something productive done in my life. Not that killing the enemies of humankind is a bad thing... but you know. Something more productive. And this terraforming tech is as productive as I can think of, honestly. Making worlds habitable again after they got the living shit blown out of them serves multiple purposes - another world for humanity to exploit, and another place the overcrowded population of the hive cities can get sent to in order to reduce overpopulation. OP always ends up equaling crime over time."

"What are you going to offer them?" Dalia chose to redirect the course of the conversation - clearly he was too fixated on acquiring this technology to consider her comments on the matter. Quite the shame...

"A secret. Something I have been holding on to for many years now. Something so utterly revolutionary that it will change the galaxy forever." The grandiose drumming up continued as he motioned over to a small box. "Something that will make life easier. I call it... the arc light."

Silently he pulled out a tube that appeared to have electrodes on each end of it. "This light will excite gas and make it glow that way instead of, you know, a bunch of power being wasted in order to light up a thin strip of metal. The savings will be enormous! Not to mention the light can be recolored based on the gas inside the tube." Essentially nothing more than a form of crude neon-like light, it was hardly an invention - but he had no knowledge as to whether or not the Tau utilized some sort of advanced lighting or not. Perhaps it would be a mistake.

"That seems... to be something we don't typically utilize." Dalia pondered over whether this was tech-heresy or not - on one hand, he had apparently innovated it himself, but seeing as he was a human from before the Dark Age of Technology, would it really classify as tech-heresy if he knew that such lighting existed back then? "In which case I as a representative of the Adeptus Mechanicus would be obligated to stop you from giving experimental technology, archaeotech at that, to a xenos species."

"But you wouldn't, because you know as well as I do that-"

"That the Imperium has more efficient and advanced lighting systems than these? Yes. Yes I do, Inquisitor. I also know that your attempt to do this is somewhat impressive, sending these xenos down a path of divergence that will ultimately see them with lower quality technology than the Imperium of Man. An intriguing thought." He paused in shock.

"So we have more advanced lights than arc-lamps?"

"Of course. Now, let's make this trade and be quick about it. Xenos are often known for their treacherous behavior."

* * *

 _Desolator-class Battleship Eclipse, Segmentum Ultima, 5 083.008.M42_

"...and this technology has been unused in the Imperium despite its revolutionary design and low manufacturing cost?"

"Indeed. You know how bureaucracy can be..." The blue-skinned alien glanced at him with a gaze that implied there was no concept of bureaucrats in the Tau Empire. "Anyways, we have a deal? This arc-light technology in exchange for a single terraforming device?"

"I... find this to be a satisfactory agreement, gue'vesa. Such will benefit the Greater Good in the overarching scheme of things. A ship will be underway with regards to delivering the device to one of your open cargo bays. I will also keep the device's operators here on board this ship with you - not for malicious purposes, of course, but to instruct you as to how the device will operate."

"Alright..." He shrugged. Though such a addition seemed suspicious, he would be on the lookout for any attempts by the Tau to spy on or sabotage his vessel. "I hope they enjoy the tour of the galaxy's worst. We have one hell of a location we'll be headed to after this exchange."

"And where precisely would that be?" The Ethereal inquired.

"The Eye of Terror. A massive hole in reality between this universe and another. Daemons and all sorts of other horrible nasties live there. Your people have probably seen some of them before - giant armored guys? Like wearing spikes, horns, and brass eight-pointed stars?"

"Ah, yes..." He sighed. "We have heard reports of such terrible places. Monsters and the like. Some of our finest will come with you as well - the pilot of a Crisis suit, Shas'O Nee'San will join a small squad of Fire Warriors who will be deployed as security for the device operators. If you intend on utilizing the device in such a dangerous landscape, we must have some forces to assist you."

"That's... really generous of you. Thanks." He nodded, reaching forward and shaking the unusual hand of the xeno. Within several hours the device would be loaded on board the _Eclipse_ , and the Tau would be on board within a cargo bay they would now call home. It was time to return to the Warfleet.

* * *

 _Desolator-class Battleship Eclipse, Segmentum Obscurus, 5 138.008.M42_

Having returned to the makeshift Battlefleet that had been laid out in the void of the Segmentum Obscurus, its location merely marked by a single beacon within an otherwise empty region of space, he immediately noticed that a good deal of the ships were now powered. Smaller transports had apparently been working day and night through a sheer influx of manpower in order to provide these vessels with full, or in some cases, above-full complements. Rumors had been spread that even some Imperial naval academies had been emptied of freshly trained recruits simply to find enough officers to fill the fleet.

The focus on acquiring men had chiefly come from hive worlds, and the crews themselves mostly comprised underhivers. The worlds had been more than happy to empty the lower portions of their cities of the poor and helpless - as well as the riff-raff who caused the local Arbites trouble. That there were a good deal of Space Marines involved in the forthcoming campaign seemed to be enough to settle the restless nerves of those within the criminal element of the Imperium - but the millennial couldn't help but think that there would be at least one instance of mutiny during the Crusade.

When eighty percent of the fleet was available for Warp travel, the fleet would travel to the Cadian Gate. A stop at Cadia would be their entrance into the outer layers of the Eye of Terror, where they would penetrate into whatever locations infested with the forces of Chaos that they could enter into. The planet of Cadia itself, however, was still not fully freed of the group of the Black Legionnaires that had landed on its surface nine years ago, and their enclaves still partially dotted the world's landscape, even as the residue of the Immaterium's energy washed over the planet.

A knock on the quarters of the millennial surprised him, as he nonchalantly gave access to the room. Expecting it was Dalia, he continued to read his dataslate, wearing naught but a t-shirt and shorts. "Yeah?"

"Gue'vesa... We need to speak." He looked up, and there he was - a Tau. This must've been that Shas'O Nee'San the Ethereal had talked about. "I have been feeling... strange whenever we travel. It makes me feel as though something is whispering to my mind. I cannot hear it clearly, but I know something is there. Is something wrong with me? Do you hear the voices too?"

"...I think it's time that you be informed as to how things go for us humans. Please, sit down." He laid down the dataslate, motioning to another chair that the Fire Caste member soon sat in. "See, we have one major advantage over you. That's called the Warp Drive. A long time ago -" He checked the dataslate to ensure he was correct in his statement - "we as humans found out that we could use the powers of the Warp. Apparently we're more connected to it, or some shit like that. Anyways, so there are these humans called Navigators, and they know how to use Warp Drives to make travel that would take hundreds of years take naught but several weeks at the maximum. But there's bad stuff in the Warp, mate. Really fucking bad stuff. These things called daemons exist there. They're pretty much representations of our emotions, or something like that. basically, they whisper to humanity and try to get them to worship some evil deities called the Dark Gods, or the Old Gods, or something like that. Yeah, I hope you're ready to get fucked up, because you haven't seen jack shit from your species' little hidey-hole."

"So I and the others have nothing to worry about?" Still the Battlesuit operator showed worry.

"You're fine, alright? Now if you start growing a third eye, we'll have some issues, but I don't think that'll be a real problem."

Cadia would be the real problem when his modus operandi was on full display.


	45. Chapter 47

_Desolator-class Battleship Eclipse, Segmentum Obscurus, 3 934.017.M42_

It was the moment he had been waiting for over, to him, what had seemed like ages. Nine years had passed since he was first shown the fleet of vessels slowly accumulating within the void of space. Nine years had passed as untold sums of men and machines filled the once lifeless hulks, breathing energy into them once again as their systems reactivated, ready to serve the cause of mankind once more. The threshold of eighty percent of the fleet had finally been reached, and it was now time to travel to Cadia. The fleet was properly aligned for the grandiose jump that would determine whether or not they would have the impact they intended.

Engines cumulatively powered up, ships spaced adequate distances apart to ensure that their Warp fields would not overlap. Gellar fields were turned on as the vessels prepared for a jump through the usage of their Warp drives - and on the mark of the millennial, the vessels disappeared into the void. Though it had taken some time, they were safely within the confines of the Immaterium.

"Well..." He turned, looking at Dalia, as well a Shas'O Nee'San. "This is it. We go to Cadia, then we go and fuck Chaos stuff up." Grasping a massive book, he opened the pages, fingers running over pages formed from something he wished wasn't long-preserved human skin - a copy of the ancient artifact known as the _Malefact Maloreum_ , an ancient grimoire with information of the true names of daemons, their types, and the worlds they lived on, along with how to find them. "So, according to this book, the closest planet we can travel to from Cadia with regards to the Eye of Terror is a world called Maeleum. Order everyone in the fleet to prepare for combat against daemonic entities. I expect a lot will be found here."

Dalia nodded, moving to send the information through the vessels' linked cogitator network. As she pondered over what the future would hold, she considered what had happened between the giving of this duty to the ancient human and the position he was now in. He had planted chapters of Astartes, some of which formed a part of the fleet he now led. Others from a myriad of chapters prepared to follow him into the abyss, in the hope of killing the traitors who had been holed up within the Eye of Terror for ten millennia. The conviction he saw in their faces was something that she saw both disturbed and intrigued him. Dark Angels and Lions Viridian both desired to see the death of the Fallen who lurked within the rift. The Ultramarines desired to find and destroy the flagship of the Emperor's Children, in retribution for the death of their Primarch. Even a force from the Blood Angels and their successor chapters showed an eagerness to enter the hole in reality, their captains desiring the eternal destruction of the foul entity known as Ka'bandha that had broken their Primarch.

Soon the ships exited in orbit of Cadia, met by a small group of ships from Battlefleet Cadia. The flagship of these, the Emperor-class Battleship _Galathamor_ , moved to hail the warfleet, guns armed and ready to engage. Considering how ravished by Chaos the system often was, seeing a Desolator-class warship still in the hands of the Imperium was nigh unheard of. As the hail was accepted, the holographic form of a carapace-armored man holding a cigar appeared to them. "I am Lord Castellan Ursarkar Creed. Identify yourselves, or you will be destroyed."

"Yeah, hi... This is Inquisitor Millennium. I'm currently leading the Alpha Crusade so we can take the fight to the traitor forces. Is there anything that can be done to assist you on planet?"

"You mean you don't know about the fortress we've been unable to dislodge? Were you not provided with any information on the state of the world?" Creed seemed somewhat befuddled.

"Not exactly. Kinda here to make a pit stop before we go after the fucking Chaos bastards." He responded, perfectly laid out as he had intended to be. "If you can tell us where this fortress is, we can blow the shit out of it."

"Therein lies an issue..." Creed responded. "This fortress is protected by an energy shield that draws power directly from Cadia's molten core. In order to allow for orbital bombardment of the site, the shield must be disabled. As is, however, the shield does not allow us to enter through it, and any who attempt to are immediately evaporated. We've never seen this sort of technology before."

"Hmm..." For a bit, he pondered how the situation could be approached. "I suppose I have an idea. But it'll take a drill that we can fit some Astartes into. Terminator Astartes."

"The Adeptus Mechanicus does have a Hellbore drill used for testing fortress defenses. It should be large enough to fit an adequate number of Terminators into. While it may take them several hours to acquire and activate it, perhaps we can speak with one another regarding your future plans. As Lord Castellan of Cadia, I believe you may require my insight."

"Eh, makes sense to me. I haven't exactly been around this part of the galaxy, so it sounds about right. I'll be down with the Astartes in several hours once we have finished preparing. See you soon." With that, the feed was cut as he turned back to the warship's bridge crew, soon looking at Dalia. "What exactly is a Hellbore drill?"

"A Hellbore is a powerful man-portable drill, designed to dig underneath enemy fortifications and allow for a surprise attack. But what you have planned will not work." This immediately took him aback.

"Why is that?"

"They've inevitably acquired a piece of Necron technology and are using it in order to keep their fortress secure. When you finish drilling a hole into the fortress, the shield will cut off your means of escape, and you will be trapped inside. Your only chance is to disable or destroy the shield generator within mere moments, lest you be overwhelmed by whatever abominations have festered in there. Even with heavily-armed Terminators, I still highly doubt your chances."

"Wait, how can you te-" He paused for a moment, remembering what the tech-priest before him had done before becoming a part of the Crusade. "Oh yeah... Well, still gonna take the risk. Sorry."

"Impulsive bastard..." She muttered under her breath as he walked away. Taking an elevator up one deck to his suite, he sent messages to the various Astartes ships, who would soon select those given the honor of purging the heretics on one of the most important worlds in the domain of the Imperium. Within hours, drop pods had been loaded with Terminators, who would follow the millennial down, trailing his Arvus Lighter and impacting around the landing site as he stepped out in exquisite style. The unhelmed form of Tarkus stood next to the blue-armored form of an Ultramarine, and behind them both were Terminators in the crimson red of the Flesh Tearers. The green of a Mantis Warrior followed behind the dulled blue of an Executioner - though the penance crusade was ended, members of both Astartes chapters were still part of the crusade, small squads that had stayed behind. They had made the decision to continue serving along their battle-brothers while the rest of their chapters returned to their homeworlds to begin rebuilding from the casualties they had suffered - the Emperor had not found them wanting.

Standing to meet them was Creed made flesh, the Lord Castellan and his bodyguard adorned in the finest carapace armor the Imperium could offer. The Inquisitor himself wore the suit of Ignatus-pattern power armor that had been his for over a decade now, Volkite Serpenta at his right hip and power maul at his left. By a couple of inches, he was taller than the commander of the Imperial military forces of Cadia, but that was chiefly due to the armor he wore. Out of suit, Creed would likely have the advantage.

"I must admit, Inquisitor, seeing your kind here is rare. I can hardly recall a time the Inquisition aggressively assisted in the defense of this world, though I know their presence here runs deep to ensure fifth columnists are not made welcome on this world. As well, how you acquired such a number of Astartes to assist you is beyond my comprehension."

It was then that a gilded drop pod flew from the sky. Landing a few meters away from the others, as the walls opened, a miraculous sight was seen - that of a triune of Terminators, all of whom wore the ancient Cataphractii-Pattern Tactical Dreadnought Armor once seen during the Great Crusade. These were no ordinary Terminators, however - they were Custodes, Companions of the Emperor himself.

"Ah, yes... You are the one known as the Millennial. I am Companion Karston. These are Companions Aristodesei and Wamuuder..." He turned to Creed, who was utterly befuddled to a drastic extent.

"Oh. I forgot to mention. A thousand Custodes joined the crusade, apparently by the blessings of the Emperor himself." Still the millennial wondered why they had come. Was it time in the Emperor's opinion that the Custodes resumed waging war against the enemies of humanity again? Were they choosing to participate of their own volition? Or was there a deeper, more hidden motive that would not immediately reveal itself?

"Custodes..." A tear ran from the corner of Creed's eye. "Never did I think I would see the day the Emperor's companions would come to the world of His humble servant..." The Lord Castellan gave a deep bow, as did Jarran Kell, his bodyguard and color sergeant. Soon they would resume standing, the very presence of the heavily armored and ancient superhumans making both leaders feel somewhat small in comparison.

"Before I, well..." Still his tongue fumbled. "What exactly is the significance of your title? I know you have a Captain-General, and a Commander... But what's the significance of being a Companion?"

"To clarify," Wamuuder responded. "As Companions, we once participated in the Great Crusade and the Horus Heresy alongside our Father, the Emperor of Mankind. This places us a step above those who were made after He was confined to the Golden Throne. Those Custodes are referred to in title as Custodian. In practice, our difference of titles mean little - we are all considered to be of the same rank."

"Well... That makes more sense than most of the shit I've seen in my lifetime. As is, Lord Castellan, is there any sort of assistance I can provide of a more long-term fashion?" Cadia did need more of a defense, all things considered.

"I am willing to offer you three regiments of Cadian Kasrkin, equipped with the finest technology Cadia has to offer, in exchange for more vessels within the battlefleets guarding the planet from another Chaos attack. The Thirteenth Black Crusade cost us dearly in naval superiority. Many of the ships have been damaged significantly, but would have to be taken to repair facilities outside of the system." Well, that seemed fair enough.

"Tell you what I'll do. You give me the regiments, plus the damaged ships. They'll become my problem to worry about. I still have a good number of ships being reactivated for my fleet - I'll trade some of those to you on a ship-to-ship basis, if that's alright." He offered a hand to the man widely known throughout the Imperium as a tactical genius, whose grasp soon reciprocated his motion.

"Such is a deal, Inquisitor. Now, I shall leave you to prepare yourself for the mission at hand. The Hellbore should arrive soon."


	46. Chapter 48

_Cadia, Cadian Gate, 3 934.017.M42_

"God, this thing's cramped." These were the first words of the millennial as he found himself wedged into the Hellbore drilling machine, along with a good-sized amount of Terminators. The combination of Inquisitor and Astartes was, at least in his mind, a reasonable force - though the tech-priest commanding he mighty transport seemed to have grown tired of his talk.

"Once we get inside the field, we'll have to act fast." Tarkus yelled over the noise of the machine's promethium engine. When we get inside the radius of the dome, contact will be lost with the outside until the shield is disabled."

"Makes sense to me." The millennial nodded. "What armament do you guys have?" He turned as best he could to see what exactly he was dealing with - a motley crew, to say the least. While his selection of battle-brothers from a cocktail of chapters had proven to be beneficial morale-wise, still the majority of them were equipped with unstandardized weaponry. Several sported assault cannons - others utilized a pair of lightning claws, or a combination of power fist and storm bolter. Two from the Imperial Fists even wielded the noted combination of thunder hammer and storm shield.

"Alright. Melee-oriented Termies'll get out first. Then I want you boys with the mixed armament behind them. Then the autocannon-wielders can stay at the back of the room."

Slowly the Hellbore continued to cut through the dirt, the sound of ceramics drills carving through the crust of the strategic world. It was a wonder they hadn't run into a mine by now. As they continued to proceed, eventually the sound of drilling died away, a loud hum taking over from the rear of the vehicle. The group quickly exited before looking at the route they had just come from, a silvery layer of pure energy separating them from the rest of the universe. The sooner the object was destroyed, the sooner he could get back to work.

"Alright... We should be able to, determining from the angle of the field, determine right where the middle of this thing is. How far back is that?" He turned back, eying the tunnel they had bored through.

"I would estimate a hundred meters, if more. We don't have time to waste determining the precise location. We must get to our objective." A Terminator from the Blood Angels seemed in a rush, but it was understandable - the enemy, if there was still one, had not yet revealed itself. Still he proceeded onward, gazing about the area to spy on whether or not there was anything. An eerie quiet resonated underneath the shield, and it seemed almost to him like they were in space - no one would hear their screams if they were assaulted by some bizarre monstrosity.

As they walked down a nearby hallway. sounds of agony rippled through the air, and weapons were soon at the ready. A glowing figure stood at the nearby doorway, behind which another large source of light emanated. "De... DEFILERS!" Its arms raised in anger, specks of blazing black matter magically formulated and flung towards the Terminators. "I am... am... am Arisen!" The party scattered, autocannnons and storm bolters churning out round after round of ammunition - yet it still failed to have any sort of impact upon the entity, shots harmlessly being absorbed into its flesh. Even a blast from the Volkite Weapon did little - whatever chunk was melted away found itself quickly regenerated.

"You-ou-ou-ou-ou will all suffer the wrath of-of-of Og'driada!" The creature screamed in agony, its humanoid form twisting into a metallic nightmare of blades with a single eye at the center. A hand - one of many - smashed against the floor, a great tear opening in the earth below them. The millennial found his footing lost, and would have plunged towards the chasm below had not an Imperial Fist grasped him, yanking his unstable body back to solid ground. Reality itself seemed to warp in a fashion, the view becoming distorted as though it were a hot summer's day.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU!?" He screamed at the beast as a lightning claw found itself impaled in the flesh of the entity, the claws effortlessly torn apart as the creature plunged a fist through the Indomitus-class Terminator armor of a Blood Raven, leaving him nearly lifeless on the floor as he bled from a gaping torso wound.

"I a-a-a-a-am a GOD. Bow down before-ore-ore your master, Necrontyr!" With the motion of a hand, the inquisitor found himself forced to the ground, his hands and knees the only thing keeping him supported. But suddenly, the visage screamed, reshaping itself into the form of something else bestial as it fell lifeless to the ground. "Sen... ti... nel..."

The form was soon recognized by a Blood Angel as that of a Canoptek Wraith - a Necron construct. What had happened to the Wraith, however, remained a complete mystery - in no instance that any of the Astartes knew of had a machine made of necrodermis become capable of the level of destruction which had just been witnessed. "Fuck, I wish I'd brought Dalia along. She could've told me what just happened."

As they proceeded further through the building they had evidently tunneled into, signs of Chaos activity grew more visible. Upon the floor lay a summoning circle, incomplete, made of the long-dead blood that some sacrifice was likely forced to give. Fragments of bone indicated such - but there were other cultist corpses long dessicated next to the circle. Obviously they had attempted to summon deamons and failed.

But what had caused them to fail?

Another room brought forth the image of a heavily damaged Canoptek Wraith, its vertebrae splintered in several sections, as though cut with a jagged knife. A scarab, optics flickering with the smallest degree of life, twitched next to the robotic corpse - someone had been here, and had smashed whatever guardians there were with regards to what this place had once been. Slowly, he began to piece together the situation, and the more he pondered it, the more grim his visage became.

The next room showcased the mighty form of an Astartes, soul long sold to the Ruinous Powers for some sort of bargain. This one wore pure red from head to toe, without a single fleck of brass, though the raised emblems on his chestplate and shoulders indicated clearly that he was a servant of Khorne. He was also dead, head nearly decapitated from the body, which itself looked as though it had been a figurine mercilessly contorted and crumpled in inhumane ways within the hands of a sadistic child. Blood trailed from the corpse - it had either been dragged from the point of death, or worse, the fallen Space Marine had managed to crawl to his current position despite the wounds he suffered.

Following the trail of blood led to a locked vault-like door, behind which were terrifying screams uttered forth by some unearthly entity formed from liquid metal. There was no discernible way to open this door, yet despite this, wires of unusual construction seemed to snake to this point in the structure - it had some form of significance. The Terminators clawed at it, shot at it, and abused it to the best of their abilities, only to find that the material the door was made of seemed to be able to take nearly any form of punishment believable.

Removing a gauntlet, suspicion ran through the mind of the millennial as he recalled the first time he met Dalia - the moment he had been gifted a rare opportunity to eye the entity known as the Void Dragon. The wound the dragon had suffered coated his arms with a layer of thin yet flexible metal, a metal that seemed to wield similar properties to the door itself. Forcing a finger against the door, he found a tremendous tingle ripple through his system as it seemed to practically disintegrate, absorbing itself into the walls through unknown means.

Revealed in the closed-off chamber was a structure, semi-pyramidal in shape, within which a gyroscopic system of rings sat in. Inside the smallest of the rings was a glowing entity whose energy was so powerful that sparks occasionally arced from its body to the corners of the room. A creature clung to the head of the entity, tendrils seemingly syphoning its power even as it generated more. Scarabs crawled along the exterior of the structure, repairing the damage caused by strikes of ethereal electricity even as more material was rended away from it.

"The shit... This is some sort of generator..." He stared at the creature gazing back at him, still screaming as it struggled to free itself from its bonds. It was the same creature that had previously taken the Wraith's body over. "Well, the fuck do you want me to do? Let you go? That could blow the planet up or some other cliche quest ending." A myriad of online video games from his time reappeared in his thoughts as he pondered over the irony of the situation. "Now, give me some sort of proof you aren't gonna fucking wrangle me like you did those Chaos people."

The look of the entity's eyes shifted, becoming more or less like his own. Staring into them was bizarre to the extreme, and the millennial could not help but look away. "Alright, alright... Fucking puppy dog eyes." Looking for something he could utilize to break the vault open, he pondered a bit before looking to the other Astartes. "Anyone have a big explosive? maybe a bomb or grenade?" They shook their heads collectively - why would Terminators have grenades? He scratched his head for a moment before looking down, placing the gauntlet back on his hand as he eyed the rad grenades at his waist. A metallic palm smacked into his exposed flesh. "Dammit, I need to be more attentive."

With a hurl, each of the five grenades found itself thrown into the center of the Tesseract Vault, radiological explosions rippling through the interior of the machine. Little damage itself was caused - but the C'tan bound inside strained exceedingly as cracks and other damage formed along the exterior of the containment unit.

"Shit... RUN!"

The ground began to shake, statues crumbling as the Terminators toddled away as quickly as they could, the millennial leading the way through a pair of wooden doors, part of an addition to the structure added long afterwards, As they stepped onto the solid ground of Cadia once more, the building exploded behind them in a burst of pure energy. The entity was nowhere to be seen, and there was naught but a crater - no cultists' remains, no Hellbore, no shield generator. Outside was the Lord Castellan, arms crossed as he pondered over the potential repercussions of the events which had just unfolded.

"Excellent work. I see your crusade is as capable as you claim it to be."

"With no offense, Lord Castellan," a Blood Angel piped up, "a myriad of xenos technology was located within that building. Necron technology. Did you have knowledge of this before sending us there?"

"No, I did not." Creed frowned. "The Adeptus Mechanicus were... picky, to say the least, in the details they revealed regarding the specifics of what was within there. I will deal with any fallout from them, however - you, Inquisitor, have service for the Emperor to perform. I bid thee well." With that, he gave the sign of the Aquila - a symbol returned by the inquisitor. Though he knew of the link back to modern man's prehistory, he remained silent - while his knowledge of past events had once proven useful, his anonymity as an inquisitor needed to remain intact without his identity as an ancient human being discovered. The last thing he needed was for a Mechanicus tech-priest to pick at his brain for knowledge, or for a Commissar to declare him a heretic.

There were still a million ways to die in this territory that was the galaxy.


	47. Chapter 49

_Cadian Gate, 7 947.017.M42_

The fleet had slowly but surely formed up. After years of repair and maintenance, offerings of exuberant levels of lubricant and sacred incense poured out to the machine spirits of the warships by the tech-priests who believed in the mission of the millennial, the entire fleet was underway. Every last ship had finally reached a point of no return, a position where they were fully operational and ready to serve in the impromptu battlefleet the inquisitor commanded.

Upon the bridge of the _Eclipse_ , he paced back and forth, attempting his best to eliminate any thoughts of fear and worry from his mind. Soon, he prayed, there would be an opportunity to finally achieve the goal in the grand game he was being forced to play - perhaps then he could finally rest and enjoy the remainder of his days.

"I hardly understand you..." A voice chirped up behind him, and as he pondered best he could, his eyes led themselves to the angled slits of the half-Eldar. Though seventeen years had passed since she and the detachment of Sororitas had been brought on board, still she so ardently clung to the doctrine of the Emperor Divine. Though her faith in him, however artificially constructed it was, empowered the man with the will to maintain humanity, the doctrine she and the other Sisters followed was not what their master would want. Yet they remained ignorant to the truth.

"It's been almost the entirety of one's young life. You've had more than enough time to understand me - and understand that you are not who you were made to be." By now he was used to shrugging off such comments.

"Who I am has nothing to do with you!" She snapped. "Your doctrine deviates so far from the truth of the Imperial Cult that any rational priest would have you executed for heresy, regardless of how imperious you claim to be!

"I have an understanding as to what your so-called god wants. He doesn't want mindless worship. He also doesn't want Chaos to overwhelm reality. He's an intelligent man, far more so than any I've ever met - but he's no god. Gods don't bleed."

"And still you deny reality. You have been responsible for leading forces of the Emperor's children. You have gained the support of the Emperor's sons and daughters - even the purest of them all, those closest to him in genes. Yet with each passing day you believe less and less in the truth of how reality works."

"Reality isn't like this!" He turned towards her aggressively, frustration at her stubbornness having reached a near-crescendo. "Reality is being able to sit back, relax with your family, and enjoy the wonders of life. I honestly don't think there's a sane person alive who truly enjoys what this... this _mockery_ of life has become." With a frustrated sigh, he turned away from the Sister just as a bridge officer stepped up to him. "Sir - the reports are in. Every ship is ready to make the jump at your command."

"Excellent." The pseudo-inquisitor attempted to remain level-headed, yet how could he? In the galaxy, regardless of how little power he actually held, he at least knew of what rules reality had to follow. In the Warp, the nigh-infinite domain of the Chaos Gods and their myriad of followers, they held the cards - the laws of physics could be broken with but a mere thought, and such worried him greatly. "Order the fleet to jump in five minutes."

As he returned to his quarters, awaiting the swirl of color that would soon summon itself outside the small porthole window his room had, he pondered over what the future would hold. If he and the others were successful, then perhaps victory of a sort could be gained. Perhaps Abaddon's spear could finally, truly be blunted. And if not... well, it would be the final stand of true humanity.

* * *

 _Maeleum, The Warp, 9 999.017.M42_

To the Space Marines who found themselves on board the myriad of vessels in the fleet, this world was a planet long remembered. It was on the world of Maeleum that, for the longest period of time, the fallen Primarch known as Horus had been buried. After his death, he had been brought here by his followers, worshipped as a god by the sons created from his gene-seed until his remains were broken on the orders of Abaddon.

Yet below, the world seemed empty. There was no immediate evidence of daemonic activity on the planet's surface, nor were any power signals picked up from within the long abandoned ramshackle fortress constructed by the fallen Sons in twisted honor of their father. The world for all intents and purposes seemed to be abandoned - which made the planet an excellent staging area for further penetration into the Eye of Terror. Forces were soon landed to the planet below - Astartes, then Imperial Guard - who began to immediately survey the area for any trace or sign of Chaotic presence.

As the Millennial landed in his Arvus Lighter, he pondered over a thought that seemed to have somewhat been summoned through stepping foot on the corrupted world - yet it was soon dismissed. "Chaplain Lemartes, have you anything to report?"

The Chaplain who responded shuddered a bit at the inquisition directed towards him. He shuddered a bit, turning around to eye the shorter Inquisitor before responding. "I... The ground is sanct as can be made, Inquisitor. We are in a wretched place, the tomb of he who murdered our father. The visions grow stronger..." Silently, the human recollected his visit with the Flesh Tearers years ago, watching Astartes in the grip of the Black Rage, whose sanity was lost. He had learned from Chapter Master Gabriel Seth that the Black Rage existed in all chapters that were created from the Blood Angels legion - even the chapter that bore its name.

"Just relax. Focus. Maybe you'll have the chance to get some revenge and piss on Horus' grave or something. If we can find it..." His eyes wandered up to the large tower, a gauntleted hand scratching his chin. "We can start by searching the tower. It's the most likely place for his corpse to be. Some sorta fucked up shrine, I'm guessing."

Soon, a group of Astartes from many chapters would form up with the millennial - no that joined the crusade was left unrepresented as even the young Astartes of the Forged Legion desired an opportunity to gain vengeance for their forebear's treacherous act at the behest of he who was interred here. The door to the tower, sealed with the Eye of Horus, found itself bashed down in a hail of powered weaponry, a satisfying ring of metal on metal contact reverberating throughout the entirety of the air. As the doors caved in, a new sight awaited them - two suits of armor, in the viridian color scheme of the Sons of Horus. The bodies of the Astartes had long since rotted away, turning to dust inside the sealed suits that now laid lifeless against the ground. large caliber holes in the ceramite armor indicated quite clearly what their response had been to mistreating Horus' corpse.

Several flights of stairs brought them to an ornate door, overlaid with intricate carvings of brass and silver. Sigils of Chaos anointed the brazen frame of the door, glistening with an eerie light. Most horrific, however, was the Eye of Horus that stared down at them from above, an exact replica of the jewel found on the armor of Horus himself. "Fucking Sauron..." The millennial muttered under his breath, attempting to pound away at the door in order to finally and truly gain complete access to the room. Yet the Chaotic runes still held, their wards for keeping the door locked still in place despite whatever effort was placed against them.

"There's gotta be some way to break this... Maybe if we ask it a riddle?" He shrugged, unsure of how to proceed before a Forged Legionnaire grasped the dust-coated bolter of the long-dead Son of Horus, unleashing a spray of potent seventy-five caliber rounds. Miraculously,the assault worked - the wards flickered even as the Astartes tossed the weapon to the ground in disgust.

"I desire never to do such again... Not with a weapon so foul and debauched that it was wielded by traitor's hands." He prayed a silent prayer to the Emperor for forgiveness, even as a techmarine attempted to indicate to him that the weapon could be cleansed if put through the proper rituals - and indeed such would be needed with the minimal support they would receive from the Imperium.

The doors slowly opened inward, revealing a darkened chamber. Skeletal figures, long frozen in a position of lifelessness, were on their knees, the tattered trappings of cloth that had once surrounded them now mere scraps from the eons they had spent in the chamber, barely hiding the level of drastic desiccation that their flesh had been affected by. The object of their attention was something lying on the table, what appeared to at first glance be nothing more than a suit of Astartes Terminator armor of the Cataphractii type. But as they drew near, they saw it was far, far more.

The entire right arm of the suit was missing, likely taken when Abaddon ordered that the Talon of Horus become his possession. The left gauntlet was still wrapped around the twisted handle of _Worldbreaker_ , head long crushed after the battle with Abaddon when he had briefly returned to the world of the living as Horus Reborn. Its torso had claw marks that punched from one end of the armor to the other, the Eye crystals on the armor cracked and shattered from the damage, metal shards jutting from the chest. Most important of all, however, was the skeleton - a mangled mess of bone still half tucked inside the shattered plate, skull held in place by a series of tubes that were impaled into the cranial bone. There was no denying what this was - this was the corpse of Horus.

The Astartes stood back in unison as the first to approach the cadaver, Cervan Dante, Chapter Master of the Blood Angels, stepped forward. Silence filled the room with such thickness that one could cut it with a power sword. Slowly, he continued to step forward, not ceasing until he stood over the remains of the Primarch, looking down at his skeletal head.

"You. You are responsible for the death of many in my Chapter. You were the one who, with the weapon now wielded by your foul spawn, murdered our primarch-progenitor, scarring each and every one of his children with an unimaginably horrendous curse that will forever gnaw at our bones and churn in our stomachs. Had you not turned away, had you trusted your Father's knowledge and wisdom, you would not have been so blind as to grasp for power where there was none. You destroyed, through your actions, whatever hope humanity had of regaining the glory of its golden age." With that, he said nothing else - but as a sign of disgust, he released a potent gob of acidic spit towards the Tactical Dreadnought-armored corpse. The droplets soon contacted the infernal armor, decrepit wards further etched away by the potency of such spit.

Then it moved.

The left arm of the heavily damaged suit of Terminator armor began to force it to a standing position, the skull lighting a dark red. No life was within it - yet the armor began to slowly regain its footing, turning to face Commander Dante with its full imposing height. Despite the damage it had taken over a myriad of years, the dark techno-sorcery performed by the treacherous Kelbor-Hal and his infernal fellows in the Dark Mechanicum sustained whatever semblance of a machine spirit(or daemon) the plate possessed. While Horus was not alive, still a close legacy of him remained, and as Dante stepped back, the millennial grasped his Volkite Weapon and Power Maul, face etched in fear and horror.

"...fuck."


	48. Chapter 50

_Maeleum, The Warp, 9 999.017.M42_

As the armor of Horus lurched forward, a hail of bolter fire came from the company's worth of Space Marines. Though the explosive shells of the Astartes-pattern weapons impacted the long silent adamantium of the Terminator plate, still it lumbered forward, left hand frozen in place around the handle of the crumpled _Worldbreaker_ as the monstrous ruin of the Primarch's weapon was sent smashing down, the sturdy handle bashing Commander Dante in the chest and sending him flying back. The daemonic presence that still lived within the armor, having survived the death of the corrupt Primarch as it fed off the connection to Chaos he had wielded in life, seemed to make the skull of Horus almost grin in delight as with but a blow, the remnants of the ancient power maul slashed through the hardened ceramite shells of half a dozen battle-brothers, jagged adamantium piercing through the inferior metal.

The millennial attempted his best to stay out of the way of the lumbering hulk, firing off a barrage of potent Volkite blasts to no avail. It seemed that only the weapon of a god could crack whatever pernicious blessings had been dealt by the Ruinous Powers to Horus' armor. Unfortunately, none of the Primarchs had come, nor had any of their weapons been delivered. That of the Emperor himself still lay across his withered legs, a symbol of the might and authority he once wielded before the Imperium had entombed him, never to arise as a leader again - yet this was pointless, as no man could heft such a mighty blade. The plate was unbreakable, and even the angel of the Emperor himself had managed to put but a chink into it.

Then screamed Brother Ephalos. His armor, painted black with red saltires to show remembrance of the wounds his Primarch had suffered, could no longer resist. The hold of the Black Rage, the conflation of reality and fantasy, the fact that a very fragment of Horus was here in front of him - there was no way he could hold back. Chainsword raised, he clashed with the armor, forcing his weapon through the gap in its center as the whirring blade ripped off a rib of the Primarch, splintered bone flying from the crevasse. As _Worldbreaker_ came down, the weapon arose, the strength of his demigod father bolstering the delirious battle-brother as he yet held his own against the sentient _Serpent's Scales_. A strike to the knee joint brought the cumbersome armor to its knee as the chainsword struck again, rending apart one of the Primarch's vertebrae and sending his skull clattering to the ground from the cut. For but a fraction of a second, the unbridled ferocity and rage in the touched Astartes was quenched, a moment of peaceful satisfaction filling his heart before the ruins of the power maul punctured through it, the armor running him through with but a single strike.

Droplets of Ephalos' blood slowly poured from the open wound, a wound that would not heal - he had been struck dead by the broken weapon, whose maleficent power still remained strong despite the fate it had suffered. For but a moment, there was silence as the millennial looked at the shambling suit - were a remembrancer to examine the scene, they would find to their horror such similarity to the infamous painting of the duel upon the Vengeful Spirit. Here stood the remnants of the Warmaster of Chaos who had gained the most in the so-called Long War, standing in triumph above the broken body of a fallen Blood Angel, whose fair hair and gaze in death resembled that of his primarch-progenitor. On the other side stood the millennial himself - smaller, visibly weaker-appearing than his opponent, yet with a myriad of Astartes behind him.

But it was not to be. A bright light filled the room, a light which came from no visible source - not within the room, nor without. The light shone through with such brightness that the millennial forced his helmet onto his head, still reeling from the blur the light had provided him. "But... He's dead..."

"By the Emperor..." Those Astartes who were not of the lineage of the Blood Angels gasped in awe as the slowly recovered Dante lowered his head towards the glistening figure, coated in gold, immortally preserved through the faith of the chapters. There, with wings stretched and Blade Encarmine in hand, a gilded grail held in the other, stood the Sanguinor. The so-called poker face his mask showcased was not easy to expose with regards to emotion, yet all could feel a sense of anger towards the shambling ruins of the Warmaster's armor. The pure weapon was raised as the entity rushed forward, knocking the millennial down as he did so, blade locked against the ruins of the Maul. A slash, then another, began to cause damage to the armor that even the daemon within could not maintain, the fractured remains barely holding together. A strike from the gauntleted fist of Horus' armor sent the Sanguinor reeling back, but he soon recovered, the grail slammed into what was once the head area of the armor.

As the Astartes watched the conflict unfold, the millennial attempted to move and assist the herald of good tidings for the Blood Angels in his fight - yet he found that he too could not help but watch what was happening. Force from a wing-assisted rush sent both flying into the wall, the plate remaining unbalanced as the Sanquinor took advantage to bypass the grasp of the armor, cutting down and rending off the hand of the suit to ensure it could not utilize _Worldbreaker_ again. Weaponless, the armor still marched forward, only to meet a two-handed downward strike from the Sanguinor that went through the armor from top to bottom, an unnatural occurrence as the remains stuttered a bit before soon falling forward, both halves collapsing on one another as the energy coursing through the armor finally ceased, forced back to the Warp. One could argue that it was now free - yet it hardly would view itself as such, if only due to the humiliation at its loss.

More of the Death Company had moved towards the battleground. As they saw the Sanguinor, they prostrated themselves in a manner unsee by normal Astartes - both of their knees on the ground, head bowed low and practically touching the floor, as though in reverence. The Sanguinor turned to them - none had ever been told whether it was Azkaelion preserved beyond time, whether the one before them was a semblance of Sanguinius's better half, or whether it had been artificed into existence unknowingly by the chapter and its successors. And yet, before disappearing in a flash of light, it spoke but two words.

 _"Know peace."_

It is said that those tormented by the Black Rage within the many Towers of the Lost, if but for a moment, became silent.

* * *

 _Maeleum, The Warp, 9 500.020.M42_

It had been three years since they had landed on this world. A world which neither man nor daemon had cared to claim. Yet here a massive Imperial force lay. Occasional sojourns through the Warp had seen attacks on worlds not made daemonic - resources had been plundered from many worlds - crystals of some sort, ancient weapons that had been purified by the smattering of Techmarines and other forces that lived within. Daemons by the hundreds of thousands had been cast back to the realms of their lieges, forced to beg and plead for the grace of their patrons. It was now, for the first time, that the Imperium had struck into the domains of the Chaos Gods and held ground.

And yet not all felt truly right. Within the Blood Ravens, especially, those who were so-called 'Kyrans' exposed themselves regularly, attempting to harm the presence that had built up on Maeleum. The structure built by the fallen Sons of Horus was looted, then razed, the ground beneath it purified by the Sister-Superior who was in charge of the Sororitas force that still remained a part of the crusade. Structures were built from the steel, melted down in makeshift forges to cleanse it of every last fragment of Chaotic taint. Yet a signal occasionally appeared, an enigmatic blip that seemed to ring within the area of the Eye's rim before disappearing for weeks at a time.

At last, answers were to be forthcoming. An Astartes of the Scythes of the Emperor had, using one of the smaller Warp-capable ships within the fleet, traveled to the location of the last signal - and within, they had recovered a small artifact, a dataslate whose data was heavily corrupted. It appeared to have suffered a memory lockup, leaving a single file free to access.

 _We are the Enclave, all that remains of the Judged_

 _If you are here to find us, here your hunt is answered_

 _Meet upon this world so we may assist your goals_

 _For our father, the Emperor of all Mankind_

The coordinates given were for a specific world, one that the millennial knew he would need to eventually travel to. For now, a signal was sent in the affirmative, though it did ask for more information. Were there other loyal Imperial forces within the Eye? Such would certainly be shocking, yet not implausible. He sat back, pondering over what to next do even as another vessel entered the Warp itself, traveling back to Cadia with resources scavenged and taken away. The skull of Horus itself had been sent to Baal, to be stashed as a trophy of the war. The armor of Horus was broken into fragments, each of the nine chapters directly descended from the loyalist legions receiving a section of the plate. _Worldbreaker_ was placed within the white hot forges of the Salamanders, who melted the shattered piece of arms originally made by the Emperor Himself into naught more than an ingot, inscribed with the weapon's name and fine imagery of the Horus Heresy. It was truly a work of art.

The millennial knew that it was likely impossible he would ever successfully see humanity returned to his natural life. He knew that the corruption that had turned the unifying government of mankind into the dictatorship it was today would be nearly impossible to remove. Yet he was still determined to give it an opportunity. He still wished to fix whatever he could, and with the power the Emperor had given him, he was able to get much done. Though his deeds had not rung through the halls of the Imperium, and likely would never be heard, repressed by those who could be threatened by such liberalized views, still he proceeded onward. More chapters of Astartes had been planted, nourished to grow. The chapter known as the Thetans had grown to fighting strength in a remarkable period of time, and its thousand battle-brothers had contributed significantly to the cause of the crusade.

His approach at openly letting the chapters have access to information of their predecessors raised eyebrows. Such had drawn criticism from the more puritan elements of his force, and it was due to such that only certain individuals within the hierarchy of the chapters would be allowed to know the truth - that they were the pure spawn of traitor legions, the last vestige of the good within those Astartes who had turned from the light of the Emperor. For a chapter to soon be planted, he had decided a record keeper would be responsible for keeping the knowledge of the chapter's ancestors private. The conflict throughout the Imperium would further intensify if other members of the Inquisition attempted to pursue him as a radical or deviant - even the Custodes would not be sufficient enough to keep him safe from their wrath.

After all, in the grim darkness of the far future, there could only be war.


End file.
